


Just Another Hour or Two

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Developing Friendships, Getting Together, M/M, non-hockey au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Jack lets Shitty drag him out to a party and though reluctant at first, Jack finds himself making friends and learning there’s a whole other side to college life he’s been missing out on.





	Just Another Hour or Two

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born of me wanting to write a fic that happens over one night only, and therefore I must apologise to the characters for keeping them awake so long.
> 
> Shout out to my incredible [beta](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/) and [artist](https://pvdfalconers.tumblr.com/). One of the best things about a big bang is getting to collab with people like you.

Jack fixes up a typo in his conclusion, hits save, then scrolls back up the top to re-read it again.

There’s a commotion from the bathroom connecting to his bedroom.

“Shitty?” Jack calls, head turning to the shut door.

“I’m good!! All good bro!” comes the yelled response.

Jack turns back to his essay due at 11am tomorrow. If he’d submitted it a day ago, he would have gotten 90%. Even three days ago when he’d only done two read-throughs he would have gotten a good grade and positive feedback from his lecturer. He thinks if he submits it now, he’d be almost at 95%. He knows everyone says teachers never give out 100% and even if that’s been true so far and is still true tomorrow, it doesn’t mean Jack can’t aim for that. It’s his favourite class, taught by the lecturer who encouraged him to major in history back when he still didn’t know what to do.

Changing the font type he goes to begin another readthrough when Shitty opens the door to their joint bathroom and spills into Jack’s room.

Jack looks down to where Shitty is sprawled on the floor, having tripped over something. Possibly his own feet. More likely the stack of library books Jack’s been using for his essay.

“Thought you said you were good,” Jack comments dryly.

“Who puts books in the way of the bathroom door?” Shitty says instead of replying to Jack’s comment, straightening up the pile he dislodged. “You keep them _in_ the bathroom as reading material, or _not in a doorway_.”

“I’m taking them back tomorrow,” Jack explains.

“Oh, yeah,” Shitty says, sitting up. “Your big essay’s due. How’s it going?”

Jack shrugs.

“Is that it?” Shitty points, getting up and coming over to stand behind Jack and lean over his shoulder. “Ah, bro. I’m sure the content is, like, A+ but maybe rethink the font?”

“It’s just an editing trick.” Jack hits undo and the font returns to normal.

Shitty nods and his long hair brushes against the side of Jack’s face.

“So... you almost done?”

“I want to read it over a few more times.”

Shitty turns his head and grins at Jack. It’s quite frightening this close. “Classic Jack. How many times have you gone through so far?”

“Only about eight.”

Shitty’s eyebrows go up. “Are you even finding things to fix at this point?”

“Some.”

“Alright.” Shitty pulls back and looks around Jack’s room, hands on his hips. Jack notices then that he’s got his party shoes on, the ones so beaten-up and covered in various substances that Shitty himself doesn’t know what colour they were originally. Jack’s stomach churns.

“Was that everything?” he asks, hoping for a positive response.

“Actually…now that you mention it…” Shitty spins Jack’s chair around then braces his hands on the back of it, leaning over Jack. “Got a text inviting us to this frat party tonight. Sounds like a good time.”

Shitty grins in that goofy, over the top way that ordinarily makes Jack laugh.

“Not tonight.”

“Because of your essay?”

Jack nods and tries to turn back to his laptop but Shitty’s gripping fast to the chair.

“Fair. So what about if we went out tomorrow night?” Shitty suggests, quickly adding “ _After_ the essay is done.”

Jack frowns. “But the frat party’s tonight.”

“And there’ll be another tomorrow. You know how they are.”

“I’m good,” Jack repeats the initial sentiment.

“But your essay will be submitted by then! I’m…” Shitty cuts off and drops his head down as he sighs. “Jack? Can we have a D&M for a bit please?”

It’s not the first time Shitty’s initiated a ‘deep and meaningful’ between them. Shitty likes using his words, and Jack doesn’t mind hearing them. Normally.

“Okay,” he agrees.

Shitty moves over to Jack’s bed, waiting for Jack to save his essay and close his laptop before he pats the spot beside him. Jack sits on the bed, clasping his hands together in his lap.

“As always, this is a no judgement space.” Shitty brings a leg up onto the bed to angle in to Jack. “Anything revealed in the moment, stays—"

“—with the people who shared the moment.” Jack finishes.

“Right,” Shitty nods, then clears his throat. “I have noticed that you are becoming a social recluse.”

“Becoming?” Jack asks, trying to deliver it as a joke. As good as he normally feels after these talks, he always finds them awkward at the start.

Shitty narrows his eyes at Jack.

“Sorry,” Jack mutters.

He looks away from Shitty and runs his palms up and down his legs. “I know,” he eventually agrees. “I don’t go out a lot.”

“It’s not even the going out part so much—though, I think one would help the other—it’s more…who’s your support network at Samwell, you know? Who are you going to call if you’re out of protein powder and can’t leave your room.”

“You,” Jack says.

“And…”

“And what?”

“What if I’m in class? Or dead?”

Jack doesn’t have an answer.

“You’re proving my point here,” Shitty points out of the silence. He says it gently, but it stings somewhere in Jack’s chest anyway. “I’ve been assuming that the people you tell me about from your classes were also people you were friends with. But I don’t think that’s the case.”

Jack still can’t look at Shitty. “So?” He feels uncomfortably seen.

“So I think—I don’t know a great way to say this.”

Shitty’s apparent discomfort with this conversation is what makes Jack look at him finally. When he does, Shitty says softly, and with far more seriousness than Jack normally sees in him, “I think you need more...strong connections with people. More...friends.”

Shitty looks sorry for saying it. Jack wants to tell him he’s wrong but there’s too much doubt because what Shitty is saying...it’s not the first time Jack’s hearing it. It’s one thing for a voice in your head to say it though, and an entirely other thing for your closest friend to.

Shitty shifts on the bed. “I think you should come out with me tonight.”

Jack sighs, still hurt by the truth of Shitty’s words. “I’ve got my essay.”

“You’ve still got tomorrow morning. Besides, you don’t even need to stay out that late.”

Jack frowns. “I’m not sure.”

“Two hours?” Shitty suggests. “Please?”

“I—It’s not about that. I just don’t think I should go.”

“Is there a reason why?”

“It’s just.” Jack sighs. Shitty’s been honest with him. It’s time for him to return the favour. “The text invite. It’s not for me, you know?”

“So?”

“I can’t show up at a party I’m not invited to.”

“Jack,” Shitty says, exasperated. “It’s college. That’s the only way people ever go to parties.”

Jack shakes his head. “That’s not my point. It’s like, even when I do get invited—which I wasn’t this time—I only _get_ invited because we’re friends. People want you there. They don’t want me there.”

Shitty’s expression is what Jack would call _appalled_.

“Jack. Pardone my Français, but that’s total bullshit. Fucking 100% bullshit. You’ve got to—I think it’s—Gah!” Shitty stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m trying not to phrase this in a way that’s condescending or like I want to force you to do something but it’s….” He takes another breath and grabs onto Jack’s shoulders. “You need to stop putting yourself down and realise that people are interested in being your friend because they like you.”

Jack lets out a harsh laugh. “Sure.”

“Jack. I’m serious. Why are you—I mean, is it just an excuse or something?” Shitty asks, leaning in closer to him. His voice gets quiet and serious and Jack wishes he could pull away from Shitty’s grip on his shoulders. “Or do you really believe that? Because if you do you’re gonna break my heart, man.”

Jack can see the worry in Shitty’s eyes. That isn’t what this conversation was meant to achieve. He only wanted to let Shitty know he could go out without Jack.

Jack tries to shrug it off. “You care more about that stuff than me.” It’s true and also not, because the assumption is that Jack doesn’t care and the reality is he’s starting to. He knows he is because this conversation hurts more than it would have a few months ago.

His half-answer clearly doesn’t fly with Shitty, because he narrows his eyes and asks “Do you not care because you don’t care? Are you self-conscious? Or are you maybe, like, settling for not having friends because you can’t deal with realising you’ve failed at connecting with anyone apart from me.”

This time, Jack really does yank himself away from Shitty.

Shitty’s arms drop limp to the bed and Jack stands up, putting several feet between them. He clenches his fists by his sides to stop them shaking.

“Jack. I am so sorry.” Shitty stands up but stays by the bed. “That was...Even for a D&M that was way over the line.”

“Yeah, Shits. It was.”

“I’m sorry,” Shitty repeats.

Jack breathes in deeply until he can get past the sudden anger to understand why Shitty said what he did.

Jack didn’t come to college with the idea that he was going to make friends, even though his parents kept telling him this was the place he’d make his ‘friends for life’. Jack came here to study, to learn, to graduate with a degree that can help him get a career in a field he’s passionate about. That’s why he only has Shitty.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much to hear Shitty saying all of this. It’s clearly something he’s been thinking about for a while.

Jack breathes deeply, staring at Shitty who is still keeping the distance between them, though Jack can tell he doesn’t want to. It eases his shock. They’re friends, they’re meant to be honest and open with each other.

Jack breathes deeply again and when he lets out the breath, he feels the last of his anger go with it. His next breath doesn’t bring acceptance, but it’s a start. Acknowledgement. Jack doesn’t have close connections. He doesn’t have anyone at Samwell besides Shitty. Not in the real way Shitty is wanting for him.

He’s not ready to let go of his priorities completely, but two hours at a party sounds like something he can do.

“Two hours,” Jack tells Shitty, unclenching his fists.

Shitty takes a second to realise what Jack’s saying. “You’re—Really? You’re serious?”

Jack nods. “Yes. You’re—” _You’re right about me_. The words die in Jack’s throat as he tries to say them. Maybe that can be step two. Jack nods firmly instead.

“Hell yeah!” Shitty leaps over to him and grabs him in a bear hug. Jack’s loosened enough to return it and as he does, the tension in his shoulders swirls away.

“I’m so excited. And proud,” Shitty says into his ear.

Jack rolls his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Totally not.” Shitty pulls back from the hug but stays close and presses their foreheads together. “You don’t even need to, like, make a friend tonight. Just maybe talk to someone you don’t know.”

That sounds like step 99 to Jack, but he’s always been committed to a challenge.

“I’m telling you,” Shitty steps away and heads to Jack’s wardrobe, “the worst thing that can happen isn’t them not talking to you, it’s them being totally boring and, or, a douche. Then you can totally leave the conversation. Just be like ‘I’ve just seen my friend. I’m gonna go say hi’. Works every time.”

“Like you’ve ever had to use that,” Jack teases, feeling lighter now that he’s got a goal.

He’s going to hold Shitty to the promise of two hours though. He thinks he’ll need it to get through the party. Two hours and one conversation.

“Think quick,” Shitty says, then launches something at Jack, who—as he’s in the middle of putting his phone and wallet into his pocket—doesn’t react fast enough.

The bomber jacket hits him in the face then falls to the floor. “Thanks,” Jack says sarcastically, bending to pick it up.

“You’re welcome, man. Put it on and let’s go! I’m still so excited that you’re coming!”

“I can tell by the decibel you’re yelling at,” Jack jokes, shrugging the jacket on. He switches the room light off and follows Shitty out  and onto the street.

The night is warm enough for fall and Jack doesn’t bother doing up the jacket as he waits for Shitty to get his phone out for the address of the frat house.

“I forgot to ask, whose party is this?” Jack asks.

“No idea,” Shitty says, taking his eyes of his phone for a moment to glance at Jack. “One of my law club buddies said it was worth checking out and we weren’t doing anything tonight, so. ”

“I was doing something,” Jack says as they begin walking.

Shitty’s face is buried in his phone but he still manages to tease, “You were _re-_ doing something that you’d already re-done 20 times. You deserve a break.”

Jack considers latching on to that and telling Shitty that if this whole thing is about giving Jack a break, he’d prefer to stay in and watch something on Netflix. He knows it’s not though, so he doesn’t say anything, following beside Shitty as they walk down campus to frat row.

Jack tries to dismiss the itch to return to his essay. A party with Shitty and his friends who Jack somewhat knows, is a different thing to what he’s agreed to sign over two hours of his life to—a party with people he doesn’t know at all. He shoves his hands into his pockets and runs his fingers along the seams on the inside.

“Watch out,” Jack says, taking a hand out of his pocket to steer Shitty away from a street light.

“Thanks. Almost there.”

Jack can see the house up ahead. There’s a mess of people on the front lawn and two separate kiddie pools set up with ice and drinks. Jack takes a deep breath and pulls his jacket tight around him. _Two hours_ , he bargains with himself, _and then you can leave_. He takes out his phone to check the time, almost going so far as to set a timer so he doesn’t miss it.

“Wow. Crazy,” Shitty says, when they get there, grin taking over his face as he pockets his phone finally. “Looks incredible. Hey, is that a _bathtub of punch_?!” Shitty yells excitedly, squeezing past a group of already drunk people crowding around a phone and laughing loud enough it grates on Jack’s ears.

Jack follows Shitty, picking up a beer from one of the kiddie pools on the way lest Shitty thinks to offer him punch instead. He’s horrified to find it actually is a bathtub filled with punch that looks way too green to be anything less than 60% Midori. Shitty grabs a cup from a stack on the porch floor by the tub and scoops it in. Jack shudders. Shitty’s hands are going to get sticky in a few minutes but Jack knows it won’t bother him like it would Jack.

“Punch?” Shitty says as predicted, holding the cup he’s just filled out to Jack.

Jack lifts his beer up. “I’m good.”

Shitty shrugs and takes a massive gulp of the punch. His face scrunches unpleasantly. “Urgh,” Shitty coughs. “This is strong. I hate it, but I also love it.”

“What’s in it?” Jack asks, staring into the tub.

Shitty swirls the drink around in his cup, takes an exaggerated sniff and then a very small sip. “A great night,” he tells Jack emphatically.

Jack can tell Shitty believes it, but quietly, he’d settle for an uneventful one. Two hours and one conversation is all he’s looking for.

He follows Shitty inside, where there’s even more people. This party obviously got going much earlier than they’ve arrived and Shitty and Jack walk into a heaving dancefloor, the smell of sweat and beer clogging Jack’s nose. He sticks close to Shitty, stepping on his heels a number of times. One of the dancing people bumps into him enough that his near-full beer sloshes down onto the ground between.

“Sorry!” The girl yells at him, turning back to her group of friends without missing a beat in the music.

“It’s alright,” Jack says, though it’s futile with how loud the music is.

Shitty eventually runs into someone he knows and Jack stands by him while they chat about a group assignment he remembers Shitty ranting about a few weeks ago. He’s almost certain Shitty’s talking to the guy whose work was so terrible he had to “rewrite the whole goddamn thing”. He doesn’t get why he’s bothering. Jack checks his phone while they’re talking and frowns. It’s only been 20 minutes since they got here.

Eventually, Shitty ends the conversation and convinces Jack to come out with him to try some of the tub juice. Jack doesn’t hesitate to spit his mouthful back into the cup. Shitty laughs at him as he splutters.

“That is foul,” Jack declares.

“The second cup tastes much better.”

“Yeah right. I’m going to find some water.”

“‘Kay. I’m going to join in on the beer pong,” Shitty tells Jack, following him back into the house.

The loud music surrounds Jack again and he would have missed Shitty speaking to him if he hadn’t leant right in to his ear to do so. “Don’t forget, one person! One conversation! But honestly, only if you’re feeling up to it. I’m already proud of you, Jack.” Shitty starts backing away toward the beer pong table. “You chose socialising over an essay! That’s fantastic!” he shouts to Jack as people behind him step aside to avoid his arms as he blows Jack a kiss. Jack is embarrassed by the way people turn to look at him, but Shitty’s enthusiasm is nice.

It takes him far too long to find some water, the unpleasant sting of the punch lingering in his mouth the whole time. He quickly downs a cup, standing uncomfortably close to a couple making-out near the kitchen sink, before filling the cup again and heading to where the beer pong game is happening. He spots Shitty quickly. He’s managed to find a partner and is playing.

Jack settles himself against the wall by the pong table and checks his watch. A little under an hour left. He can manage that.

Watching beer pong is one of Jack’s preferred ways to socialise at any party. It doesn’t involve speaking to anyone and all he has to do is cheer on one of the teams enough that he blends in to the people around him. He takes a sip of his water and crosses his fingers for a long game, mind already going over his essay in his head. Unfortunately, it becomes apparent very quickly that Shitty is on the losing team. While the tall blond guy isn’t that consistent, the woman he’s with sinks the ball every time, and Shitty’s team loses. Quickly. The winners belch loudly and Shitty starts demanding a re-match.

Jack feels a little guilty about choosing that moment to slip away from the game but he doesn’t want Shitty to see him and rope him into playing. Plus, the water has done nothing to get rid of the punch taste. He finds a cooler with drinks in the hallway and picks up another beer.

Thankfully, he hasn’t gotten it open yet when he turns around and bumps into someone in the corridor.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

“It’s alright,” Jack says at the same time the other person responds “You’re fine.”

Jack steps to the side to let them past but they had the same idea and they end up stepping the same way. Jack steps to the side again. So does the other man. It happens a third time and the guy laughs.

“Well, seems like there’s no getting around you,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” Jack apologises again.

“You’re all good,” the guy reassures him. “But if you could just stay still for a sec?”

Jack holds his breath, which isn’t required for standing still but feels like the thing to do as the other man brushes past him to join what must be the bathroom queue.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile as he passes Jack, blond hair catching under the fairy lights strung along the hallway.

Jack watches him for a moment before shaking his head and returning to the main living room.

His previous spot on the wall is taken so he ends up standing in a gap between two groups of people. Surprisingly, it looks like Shitty’s team is winning this round. Or at least, he’s not obviously losing, but considering this is game two, Jack’s not sure how long Shitty’s sobriety can last against the amount of alcohol he’s already consumed.

Jack takes his eyes off the game for a moment and somehow manages to find the man he bumped into in the corridor. Jack watches him join a group of people on the dancefloor and pick up the beat with ease. He watches him dance, remembering his promise to Shitty—to talk to someone new tonight. Would the conversation in the corridor count? It wasn’t exactly premeditated, or even a conversation. He also remembers Shitty saying that he was already proud of Jack for just coming out here though, so Jack could easily count it and Shitty would still think it worthy of note. He remembers how thrilled Shitty was though when he said he’d go out, and how nice it felt seeing his friend so happy. Maybe he should actually try for something more substantial. The talk in the corridor went fine, and Jack hadn’t even planned for it.

Decided, Jack turns his attention to the people watching the beer pong game. He goes over the excuse Shitty gave him in his head. _I’ve just seen my friend, I’m going to go say hello._ He also thinks about Shitty’s version of the worst thing that could happen. His own is much different and involves a grating silence following him speaking. He takes a sip of his beer and hopes it doesn’t happen, practising the excuse again.

One person. He can do that. He’s already half done it.

As he takes a sip of beer he makes eye-contact with the girl beside him.

“Hi,” he says to her before he can chicken out, trying to smile and not look like he’s only speaking to her because he promised his friend he would.

“Hey,” she responds, smiling. Jack takes it as a good sign.

“How are you enjoying the party?” he asks, hoping the topic is neutral enough.

“It’s pretty good,” she says, turning in to him a little. “Though I had some of that punch in the bathtub? I don’t recommend.”

“It was pretty bad,” Jack agrees, half-listening to what she’s saying, half thinking about what to ask next. He thinks, if he’s really going to try, he’ll need more of a conversation to be able to tell Shitty about.

“So, uh, are you part of this frat?” Jack gestures vaguely to the house they’re in.

The girl shakes her head. “Nope. Not part of any frat. But I’m friends with a guy who was dating someone from this frat, and they’re still, like, good friends, which a lot of people find strange?” the girl rants off all in one breath, leaving Jack nodding but half a page behind. “Anyway, he heard from her that it was happening and it was going to be fun or whatever and he invited me and some other people from class.”

“Right,” Jack says, nodding, sure he’s not smiling anymore from how hard his brain is working to understand what she’s just said. He’s used to Shitty talking a mile a minute but he didn’t realise it would be different when someone else was doing it.

“And you? Are you a frat guy?”

“No.” Jack leaves it at that, then realises she’s waiting for him to keep going. “I, uh, live in student housing with a friend. Back past the lake.” It’s about as much detail as he’s comfortable telling her. They don’t know each other. He knows that the only way to know someone is to answer questions like this but this whole thing is just an exercise anyway. It’s like Shitty said, he’s not actually looking to make a new friend tonight.

“So, what are you studying?” he asks, wanting to move the conversation away from him, and not sure he took in enough of what was said before to have a concrete story to tell Shitty.

“Well, I haven’t declared a major yet, but I’m thinking—Oh my gosh!” the girl interrupts herself. “Yes!” She turns away from Jack to look at the area of the room where people are dancing.

“Uh…” Jack isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt, it’s just—It’s my song!” She explains, looking back over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she turns back, biting her lip. “Do you mind if—”

Jack shakes his head.

“Awesome!” She smiles broadly at Jack and hands him her half-drunk beer. Jack takes it automatically. “Nice meeting you! Enjoy the party” she yells as she backs into the dancefloor, already moving to the beat.

Jack watches her get enveloped in the crowd, feeling out of sorts. He looks down at the half-drunk beer he’s holding, unsure of the etiquette. Is he meant to hold onto the drink until she comes back? Maybe she just wanted to free her hands up to dance. Does Jack put it somewhere safe for her? But there’s so many beers in those pools outside she probably doesn’t need Jack to do that.

“It’s just a drink,” Jack tells himself but carries it with him anyway and he moves around to the wall nearest Shitty and leaves it on the corner of a coffee table so he knows which one it is. Just in case.

Jack refocuses on the game but after only a few more minutes it’s over. Shitty accepts his defeat more sportingly this time. Jakes waves at Shitty from his position on the wall and Shitty makes his way over to him.

“Sorry for your loss,” Jack offers his condolences.

Shitty puts his hand over his heart. “Alas, we were the weaker team.”

“I think you were handicapped by the tub punch you had earlier.”

“Nah. I’ve got a liver of steel. I’m just crap at this game.” Shitty looks around the crowded room.

Jack laughs. “I know. I just didn’t want to say.”

“Ignoring that,” Shitty says, still looking around the room. “I was thinking of going and talking to that lady we were playing against. Then you can get some tips on approaching a random person at a party and initiating conversation.”

“I’ve already done that,” Jack tells Shitty.

Shitty spins back round and partly into Jack. “You did?”

Jack laughs. “You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“This isn’t surprise. This is—” Shitty opens and shuts his mouth before sighing out, “ _Fine_. It’s a surprise. But whatever. How’d it go? Was it the worst thing in your life? Did you vomit? Did you,” Shitty leans in and drops his voice. “Did you _die_?”

Jack shoves him away. “No death. It was fine. It was only a minute, really. She was nice.”

“Jack.” Shitty wraps him in a hug which ends up fairly uncomfortable for the several seconds he holds it because Jack’s arms are trapped by his side.

“Alright, alright,” Jack says eventually.

“Did you have to use the exit line?” Shitty asks.

“No. I didn’t. She wanted to go and dance to some song that came on.”

“So s _he_ used a line on _you_?”

Jack frowns, stomach sinking. “Oh, uh, no? I don’t think so. Is that—”

“Jack, Jack, Jack. Just pulling your leg. ‘Course she didn’t use a line on you, you beautiful human.”

Despite Shitty laughing away his earlier comment, Jack can’t help his stomach from churning. He’d thought their conversation went fine. It may not have made him a new friend, but it was pleasant and he didn’t feel uncomfortable at all (or more uncomfortable than he had so far that evening).

He can’t get the thought out of his head that Shitty might have been right. He looks around to where people are dancing and tries to spot the girl knowing that if he does, it means she wasn’t using a line and Jack can relax again. Jack can’t spot her. He tells himself that he didn’t spend much time with her, so he isn’t that familiar with her face, so she probably _is_ dancing and Jack just can’t recognise her. He tells himself that the song would be finished by now so maybe she just walked away to talk to her friends. He tells himself maybe she’s gone home. Jack’s stomach still feels uncomfortably tight but then he see the guy from the corridor again, singing along to the song that’s playing, and the tightness fades.

Jack doesn’t have the time to analyse that because Shitty finds the woman he was versing in beer pong and yells very loudly to her from beside Jack.

“Hey there, beer pong champion!”

The woman turns around and once she spots them, offers a head nod to them both. Jack half-heartedly nods back, always feeling like an intruder when Shitty drags them to talk to people they don’t know.

“Great match,” Shitty says enthusiastically, not like he’s worried about appearing over-eager or crossing into someone’s personal space. “Truly, you’re a master of the sport.”

The woman shrugs but she’s grinning with Shitty. “What can I say?”

“I’m Shitty, and this is Jack,” Shitty gestures between them.

“Lardo,” the girl says, and doesn’t make any comment on Shitty’s name which is an abnormality. Shitty and Jack share a look over it and Jack can tell Shitty likes her more already.

“So how do you know Sasha,” Lardo asks.

“Who?” Shitty asks.

“The girl who’s throwing this party.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Shitty says easily, while Jack hides away by taking another sip of beer. It’s one thing to crash a party you’re not invited to, even if it may be a college party with an open door, but another to admit to the host’s friend you’ve done it.

“Damn,” Lardo says, surprising Jack. “I was hoping you two’d know her. I’ve no idea who she is. A buddy of mine said to come for the beer pong.”

“Dude, that’s our story too. Jack here was just going to spend all night proofreading a history essay.”

Lardo looks over to Jack. “Respect for the dedication, but also, it’s Friday night.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, just to say something.

“What’s the essay on?”

“Oh, it’s ah…” Jack clears his throat, sure she’s only asking to be polite. “It’s a comparative study—representation of women in Canadian media a year and five years after world war two,” he says quickly, not wanting to take up her time.

Lardo’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a sentence I wasn’t expecting to come out of the mouth of someone who looks as jock-y as you.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Shitty rushes to say, looping an arm around Jack’s shoulders and bringing his pointer finger up ready to start a spiel Jack’s heard often before. Lardo beats him to it.

“Yeah. I know. Rans has a 4.0 GPA and could probably bench-press you with ease,” she tells Jack. “Actually do you—Hang on.”

She leans to the side and raises a hand up. “Ransom! Oluransi!”

Jack looks over his shoulder to see a tall man in a leather jacket turn his head to them. He raises his eyebrows at Lardo and shakes his head, mouthing ‘what’. Jack doesn’t see what Lardo’s response is, but a second later he’s patting the shoulder of whoever he was talking to and is making his way through the crowd to them.

“What’s up?” he asks Lardo casually.

“This is Shitty and Jack,” Lardo says is answer. “Guys, this is Ransom.”

Ransom offer his hand out to both of them, then rests an arm on Lardo’s shoulder which has him tilting at a strange angle due to the height difference.

“Nice to meet you both. How’d you know Lardo?”

“She beat my ass at beer pong,” Shitty says.

Ransom throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, she’s known to do that. I never play against her anymore.”

“I was telling Jack that you guys share that jock-with-a-brain-of-knowledge shtick.”

“Nice,” Ransom nods slowly, looking at Jack. “What’s your nerd of choice?”

“My what?”

“Like, what are you brainy about. I’m a science guy—chemistry, biology, all that jazz.”

“Oh, right,” Jack says, catching up. “History, mainly.”

“Awesome, and, like, it’s hard to tell coz you seem a man of few words, but am I hearing a Canadian accent as well?”

“Yeah.”

Ransom holds his hand up for a high-five and Jack hits it before shoving his hand into his pocket.

“You doing history too?” he directs his next question to Shitty.

“No way. Too many old white men in those books.”

“You’re doing law,” Jack can’t help but point out, earning himself a glare from Shitty and laughs from Lardo and Ransom.

“Holy shit. Pot. Kettle,” Lardo says to Shitty through her laughter.

“I’m in it to change it though. I can’t do that with history.”

“People re-shape history all the time,” Jack points out again.

“Yeah. Listen to the expert,” Ransom says, switching his arm over to lean on Jack’s shoulder instead of Lardo’s.

Jack stiffens at the contact but tries not to show it. It barely matters because a second later Ransom slides his arm off Jack. Jack tries to relax again. He concentrates too hard on it though and must miss the next few lines of the conversation because when he comes back in, Lardo is inviting them to her place.

“You guys seem like our kind of people,” she tells them. “You wanna come?”

“Hell yeah!” Shitty says immediately, while Jack’s gut drops a little. He’s meant to be going back to his essay soon but now that Shitty’s said yes, he doesn’t want to leave Shitty alone with people he doesn’t know, even if they don’t seem bad. He knows he’d be worrying most of the night about him.

Lardo must assume Shitty answered for them both, or maybe thought she hadn’t heard Jack’s response over the music and talk of other people, because she says, “Great. I’ll go gather the troops. Meet you out front in five.”

Jack watches Shitty watch Lardo go. “She’s so cool,” Shitty says needlessly. Jack’s already read it on his face.

Shitty pulls Jack through the crowds and outside. There are even more people out here now than when they first got here. Word must be spreading about this place. Seeing the amount of people Jack starts to come around on the idea of leaving for somewhere else.

Jack keeps his eyes on the front door of the house so he doesn’t miss Lardo. She’s followed out the door by three others—Ransom, the tall blond guy who was her beer pong partner, and a third man who is also blond but shorter.

Shitty waves his arms to get her attention and Jack can see Lardo roll her eyes.

“Ready?” Lardo asks them both.

Jack realises this is the moment that he could step out of the group, say thanks for the offer but I’ve got to go submit an essay. He hasn’t quite built the courage to do so when the shorter blond guy holds out his hand to Jack and Jack realises it’s the guy from the corridor.

“Hi, I’m Eric.”

“He’s Bitty,” the taller blond man interjects.

Jack looks between them before shaking Eric’s hand.

“Jack.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eric says, smiling warmly at Jack.

“You too,” Jack says, too polite to say that they’ve met before. Or maybe Eric doesn’t remember, in which case, it will still be rude to point out. A flash of disappointment runs through Jack but Eric moves on before he can think about why.

“That’s Adam—”

“Holster,” the taller blond interrupts Eric again, holding out his hand to Jack and pumping it with a lot of enthusiasm.

Eric sighs heavily and rolls his eyes at Jack, like he’s including him in a silent communication over Holster’s actions.

“Bitty’s a nickname,” Eric explains. “Holster’s a nickname. Lardo and Ransom are nicknames. I try and use our _actual_ names every now and then—”

“Only when we’ve pissed you off,” Holster interrupts a third time, grinning.

“ _Adam_.”

“See?” Holster says to Jack. Bitty glares at him.

Bitty sighs and looks back to Jack. “Call me whichever.”

“Alright.” Jack hadn’t realised you’d be able to see a friendship between people, but he can tell that Holster and Bitty are close from a few moments with them. He wonders if people come to the same conclusion about him and Shitty when they see them together.

“How far is it to yours?” Shitty asks as they head off. Jack falls into step beside Shitty, who’s next to Lardo. Holster, Ransom and Bitty are on the path ahead of them.

“Not long. Like fifteen minutes,” she replies.

“I made it in six once,” Holster brags to the group, turning around to walk backwards. “Bitty had made cookies.”

He looks to Jack and Shitty like they’re meant to know what he’s saying.

“You have not _lived_ until you’ve eaten Bitty’s cookies,” Holster continues, clearing the issue up somewhat.

“Stop it,” Bitty tells Holster. “My cookies are alright,” Bitty turns over his shoulder to look at Jack and Shitty, bringing them into the conversation.  “Nothing to write home about. My _pies_ on the other hand…”

“He speaks the truth,” Lardo confirms. Bitty grins at her while Ransom and Holster start arguing over Holster’s claim.

“You made it in 6 minutes? No way,” Ransom challenges.

“Uh, _yes_ way.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Prove it.”

Holster shrugs then pushes off and starts running along the path.

“Wait! Holster!” Ransom shouts, already following after him.

Bitty drops back to walk beside Lardo in their line. “Idiots,” he says, but it sounds fond.

“Two bucks on Holster being right?” Lardo asks.

“Deal,” Bitty says.

“You guys want in?” Lardo asks them.

Jack shakes his head, but Shitty puts his support behind Holster as well.

“Well,” Bitty says after a few steps in silence. “Now that they’re gone we can have a proper conversation.”

Lardo and Shitty laugh.

“Though I do like their style,” Shitty says. “How’re you all friends? You in class together?”

“Um.” Lardo turns to Bitty. “I’ve had a class with Ransom but not Holster. I don’t think you’ve had class with either of them though.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“So how did you meet then?” Shitty asks again.

“Do you guys know Annie’s?” Jack and Shitty nod. “There was a varsity sports captains meeting, and I ran into them there.”

“Wow. You’re a team captain! What of?” Shitty asks eagerly.

“Oh, no.” Bitty says, laughing. “I’m not captain. I work at Annie’s. I meant it literally when I said I ran into them.”

“That sounds like a good story,” Shitty says.

“It is,” Lardo and Bitty say together.

“More exciting than ours.”

“How did you two meet then?” Bitty asks.

“We got assigned to the same dorm.” Shitty says, turning to Jack.

“That’s basically it,” Jack agrees.

“And you hit it off? That’s cool.” Lardo comments.

“Well,” Shitty says, turning to Jack again and raising his eyebrows. The truth is that they didn’t at first, not really. Jack had decided before coming that he didn’t need to put pressure on himself to makes friends with his roommate, and Shitty had decided the opposite. There was a lot of miscommunication before Jack realised that he actually liked Shitty.

“From the silence, it sounds like there’s a story there too,” Bitty remarks.

“Not really,” Jack says. “Shitty was stubborn.”

“And Jack was playing hard-to-get.”

“Well. However it started, you’re obviously real close now.”

“We are,” Shitty says, nudging his elbow into Jack.

It’s only a few minutes more walking after that, which they spend talking about one of the new Netflix movies. When they make it up the stairs to Lardo’s room, Holster and Ransom are there leaning against the door.

“6 minutes on the dot!” Holster tells them excitedly.

“Not on the dot. We didn’t get your actual starting time.” Jack gets the feeling Ransom has told Holster that a number of times already.

“Whatever. But the point is I wasn’t lying. I could make it in 6 minutes,” Holster tells them.

“Yeah. But _my_ point is—”

“Boys?” Lardo interrupts.

“Yeah?” they say in unison.

“Could you move away from the door?”

Once they’ve stepped back, Lardo unlocks the door and lets them all into the room. Jack hangs back and lets the others go through first. He pulls his hands out of his pocket only to put them back in again as he waits for everyone. Now that they’re here, he realises he can’t turn back. Not that he’s been thinking of doing that. The conversation with Lardo and Bitty distracted him enough that he forgot about getting back to his essay. It actually, Jack realises as he watches everyone walk into Lardo’s place, wasn’t even that it was a distraction, it’s that he was engaged in the conversation.

So while he has to go inside now because he’s here and he can’t be rude, there’s a part of him, bigger than expected, that wants to go in.

Shitty hangs back with him and when they’re the last two in the corridor he throws an arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“How crazy amazing is this night?” he asks, grinning widely. “But.” Shitty swings around so he’s in front of Jack. “If one of us maybe, hypothetically, doesn’t want to stay out…I think the other one would be fine with that. Hypothetically.”

Jack smiles gratefully at Shitty but he’s already reached his decision. For now, at least. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

Shitty slaps his shoulder then goes inside. Jack shuts the door behind himself and adds his shoes to the collection the others have made in the hallway. It’s not much of a hallway. Two steps later he’s in the main area of the space. Tiny dining table, a couch, a few beanbags, a storage unit, and a coffee table. In that way, it’s fairly similar to his own place, though there’s a lot more colour in the room. Posters on walls and candles and bowls of coloured pebbles. Cushions everywhere with what Jack guesses are customised covers. Jack blinks a few times until he can fade the clutter into the background. Then he joins the others.

They’ve been clearing the coffee table and now Lardo unrolls a large sheet of paper onto it. It’s covered with some kind of geometric design.

“This one is incredible,” Bitty says, dragging one of the beanbags over and sitting down by the table.

“Thanks. They’ve got us using this new program in digital arts and I was playing around with it.”

“You made this?” Shitty asks, pointing at it.

Lardo nods.

“Wicked,” Shitty says, then pulls up another beanbag and sits beside Bitty.

“What is it?” Jack asks Lardo.

“Sea-scape. It’s for colouring in.”

“Colouring-in?” Jack repeats.

“Yeah. You know. You take a marker and you fill the colour into a section.”

“I know what colouring-in is,” Jack tells Lardo, feeling his cheeks heat even though he knows that she was just teasing him. It’s not the colouring-in itself, it’s the fact that these people left what was a classic college party, complete with free alcohol, to come and do it.

Lardo tips out a pencil-case worth of crayons and markers and coloured pencils onto the table. Shitty and Bitty, both on bean-bags, reach out for markers and start in on the paper. Jack sits himself down on one end of the couch. He watches the others draw until Lardo sits next to him and holds a pen out in invitation. Jack takes it, then looks for the smallest section closest to him to colour.

“You’re supes low on beer, Lards,” Holster announces and he and Ransom come through from what must be the kitchen area.

Lardo frowns at them. “I just bought a case yesterday.”

“Yeah, we found it. We’re just like pre-empting the situation an hour from now.”

“Urgh.” Lardo rolls her eyes. “You guys owe me.”

Holster and Ransom cheers their beer cans then take seats around the paper, Ransom on the remaining section of couch and Holster on a cushion on the floor near him. They brought the case out with them and everyone reaches for a beer. Jack takes one too, but doesn’t bother drinking much of it. He doesn’t want to get drunk before he does his last read through on his essay, and while he feels pretty relaxed with Lardo and Holster and Ransom and Bitty, he’s not sure he wants to have their first impressions of him be his drunk self.

Conversation flows easily between everyone. Jack doesn’t join in much initially, only when asked a direct question, but he relaxes as he listens to the stories and discussions the rest of the group have. It helps to have something to keep his hands occupied, choosing larger and larger sections to fill in on the paper so there’s a reason to keep his eyes down.

After several minutes watching how easily Shitty’s been subsumed by the group, Jack makes the conscious effort to contribute more. Still, every time he says something there’s an unsettling feeling that he’s interrupting the conversation, not contributing to it.

“History buff?” Holster comments after a rare moment when Jack comments without overthinking his words, correcting him on a fact.

Jack nods. “It’s my major,” he tells Holster.

“Awesome! I _need_ you on my trivia team. We suck at history. It’s every Tuesday at Jerry’s.”

“I’m not really a trivia person,” Jack hedges. As open as these people may be with him tonight, there’s still that voice in the back of his head chalking it up to him being with Shitty. It seems Holster’s invite was earned entirely on Jack’s merit, but without really knowing Holster, he can’t convince himself all the way. Years of thinking has formed a habit.

“Have you been before? To a trivia night?” Bitty asks him with interest—something he’s been doing a lot tonight—looking up from where he’s colouring in a large eel in yellow and orange.

“No.”

Lardo turns to Jack and raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t actually know if you’re a trivia person or not.”

There’s a chorus of friendly “oohs” at Lardo’s drag.

“I...I guess not,” Jack concedes and busies himself with drawing.

“Well, if you’d like to find out—” Holster is interrupted by his stomach grumbling.

“Dude,” Ransom says emphatically through laughter.

“Sorry all. I’m fucking starving,” Holster announces dramatically, clutching his stomach. “Is there any food here?”

Lardo points her marker at him. “You already ate all my chip packets, bro.”

Holster pouts.

“It’s all good,” Bitty says, capping his marker and standing up. “I’m sure you’ve got enough stuff in the kitchen for me to make something.”

“You don’t have to,” Lardo and Ransom say at the same time that Holster cheers.

Bitty laughs. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I love you!” Holster shouts at his retreating back as Bitty wanders off into the kitchen.

The conversation resumes without Bitty, and Jack finds himself talking less than a minute ago. The feeling that he’s interrupting is back in full force and he can’t work out what prompted it. Ordinarily, that would suit him fine, but since he’s already been contributing to the group conversation, he feels like he’s set a standard that he has to maintain. It’s hard when Shitty and Holster are loud over the top of each other, and Lardo and Ransom seem to know the perfect moments to slip in their commentary.

It’s only a few minutes, but Jack hasn’t said anything, and even though no-one seems to have noticed, he’s worrying himself into a spiral about it.

People notice when he stands up at least. “I’m going to help Bitty,” he explains.

Ignoring the “Good luck” he gets from Holster, Jack makes his way into the kitchen, clearing his throat to get Bitty’s attention.

“Oh, Jack!” Bitty’s clearly surprised to see anyone in the kitchen with him. “You need something?”

Jack curls his hands into his pockets. “I, uh, thought I could help?”

“Oh.” Bitty blinks. “That’s an offer I don’t get a lot. I’ll only be a few minutes, really.”

Jack looks away, hearing the rebuttal. “I can leave,” he offers immediately. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

“Well hey now. Are you offering to help, or not?”

Because his head is turned, Jack doesn’t notice Bitty’s walked over to him until he places a gentle hand on his arm. “That was a joke, Jack. I’m very happy to have an extra pair of hands.”

Bitty pulls away and starts opening up cupboards and drawers in Lardo’s kitchen like he’s done it before. “Do you bake much?” Bitty asks him.

“No,” Jack replies honestly. “I do cook.”

“Can you follow a recipe?”

“Yeah.” Jack prefers that anyway.

“Great! You’re hired.” Bitty smiles at Jack and hands him a carton of eggs. “Can you please crack two of these into a bowl?”

“Sure.” Jack puts the eggs down on the bench then goes in search of a bowl, opening three different cupboards until Bitty notices his struggle.

“Oh, sorry. Here.” He comes up alongside Jack. “Step to the right a little?” Jack does as asked and ends up standing behind Bitty as he pulls open a draw and grabs a large bowl and a smaller one out.

He spins round and brushes up against Jack. There’s barely enough room for the bowl between them, and Bitty’s fingers press into his chest. Bitty’s cheeks tinge pink before Jack realises he should step back.

“Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.” Bitty hands him the smaller bowl.

When Bitty hasn’t said anything for a while, Jack hedges to ask “What are we making?”

“Peanut butter cookies.” Bitty waves a jar of peanut butter at him as he grabs it from the shelf. “They’re not the nicest in the world—this recipe is kind of like a cheat’s way of doing it—but at this time of night and after drinking, I don’t think they’re going to care. They’ll be gone in less time than it takes us to make them.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say to that.

Once everything is out on the bench and the oven’s been turned on, Bitty talks Jack through making the biscuits. There’s not much to do with a four ingredient recipe, so Jack mainly hands things to Bitty as he does the work.

“So, Jack. Not to overstep, but I get the sense you were roped into coming here. The party, not the kitchen specifically,” Bitty clarifies.

Jack shrugs.

“Are you having a good time, at least? I know that we can be a little overwhelming.”

Jack nods, happy that Bitty has brought it up and not him. “There’s a lot of people out there.”

“Far less than at that first party we were at,” Bitty points out.

“It’s different though.”

Bitty pauses his measuring and looks at Jack. “How so?”

Jack’s stomach flips. “It’s not important,” he says immediately, picking up the peanut butter ready to pass it.

“I’m not…” Bitty sighs. “Sorry Jack. I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else maybe? Or nothing. I’ve noticed you’re pretty quiet. Would you prefer I just stop talking?”

“Uh…”

“I’m just so used to talking when I bake because I have this blog that—Oh. I didn’t let you answer. Sorry.”

Bitty takes a breath then gets back to measuring out ingredients. Silently.

Jack finds it too silent, but he doesn’t know how to tell Bitty he likes him talking without saying it in those words which doesn’t feel appropriate. It takes him all the way up until the mixture is ready and they’re placing cookies on trays that Jack has talked himself into speaking.

“It’s the expectations,” Jack says, filing the silence in.

“What is?” Bitty asks.

“The difference is the expectations.” Jack carefully shapes out a tablespoon of mixture and puts it onto a tray. “The other party, I could… blend in. There were so many people so one person isn’t that noticeable. But here I can’t…”

“Hide?” Bitty suggests.

“Not hide, but it’s…I feel like I’m expected to participate more.”

“You know, you really don’t have to,” Bitty says after a pause, scraping the dough from the spoon with his fingers. “You can always leave. I promise, we won’t feel slighted by it.”

“But you…” He almost doesn’t say it, but Bitty looks at him with an openness that encourages him. “You kept asking me questions and wanting to know my opinions.”

Bitty frowns at Jack.

Jack attempts to clarify. “Out there. When we were talking earlier.”

Bitty’s expression clears as he lands on the same page as Jack. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that was making you uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t. It was just, after you came in here…” he shrugs, not knowing himself how to fully explain it. “It was different.”

“Still. In the future, if I’m doing it too much, you can let me know. And like I said earlier, if you want to go back to your place, you’re under no obligation to stay here.”

The mood in the kitchen is so earnest, and Bitty is staring at him like he truly cares. He left the other room because it was overwhelming. Somehow, he’s found the same feeling here.

“Not even until these cookies are done?” Jack tries to joke to lighten the mood.

It works. Bitty huffs and rolls his eyes, but still says, “I’m serious. No one would mind.”

Jack stares at Bitty and tries to let himself believe him.

They lapse into silence again. This time, Jack doesn’t feel the need to fill it. Bitty is done with his tray of cookies a lot faster than Jack. His look a lot more even as well, but he kindly compliments Jack when he’s finished before putting them into the oven.

Jack has to talk Bitty into doing the washing up. Thankfully, Bitty must have had enough of the silence, because he starts up a conversation.

“Are you worried about your essay? That one due tomorrow?” Bitty takes the spoons from Jack and begins to dry them on a tea-towel.

“A little,” Jack says, thinking it over. “It’s not so much the essay though, it’s more...it’s not what I do—going out the night before something’s due. Not using all the time I have to make it perfect.”

“You can still go out with friends and dedicate time to study,” Bitty comments. “Don’t ask me how though. I haven’t mastered it. But Ransom has a 4.0 GPA and still manages to go to every other party he’s invited to. I’m not saying you have to do it like he does, clearly you’re different people. But I’m just saying…it could happen.”

“I don’t…How?”

“Well.” Bitty puts the spoons away in a draw, then returns to Jack’s side. Jack hands him the smaller bowl. “Do people invite you to things?”

“Uh, sometimes. Normally just because I’m Shitty’s friend, not because of, you know, me.”

Bitty frowns. “How do you know that’s true?”

“I know.”

“Jack, I’m gonna say something. You listening?” Jack looks away from the bowl he’s cleaning and nods at Bitty. “If people really didn’t want you there, they’d find a way to make sure you don’t even _know_ about it. They wouldn’t invite you and cross their fingers you’d say no. Alright?”

“I guess.”

“Alright?” Bitty says again, firmer.

“Alright.”

“ _Alright_ ,” Bitty says once more with a surprisingly fierce look.

“Alright.”

Bitty smiles. “Good. So, you have your solution.” Bitty leans in to Jack and looks up at him. _“Say yes to more things.”_

It sounds simple. Jack knows it isn’t. He doesn’t know how to say yes without first thinking through to a ridiculous amount of detail the pros and cons and hidden potential meaning behind people’s words and actions. He is the person who proof-reads his essays far beyond the point of practicality.

“Let’s practise,” Bitty encourages. “It’ll be like that scene in _27 Dresses_.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, but moving on. Jack, do you want to come over to mine and watch _27 Dresses_?”

Jack blinks. “I don’t know what it’s about.”

“It’s a rom-com with Katherine Heigl and James Marsden.”

“I don’t watch a lot of rom-coms. I’m not sure you’d—”

Jack stops as Bitty holds his hand out. He leans in to Jack and faux-whispers, “This is us practising you saying yes to things.”

“Oh,” Jack whispers back. “Sorry.”

Bitty drops his hand and tries again. “I’m having people over for a movie night tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” Jack says easily, now that he knows the point of the game.

“Good,” Bitty says encouragingly. “Do you want to come to Holster and Ransom’s next game?”

“Yes.”

Bitty gives him a thumbs up. Jack smiles. He’s getting the hang of this.

“It’s the library’s annual fundraiser sale tomorrow. You wanna go with me?”

“Yes.”

“See, you _can_ say yes,” Bitty says happily. “Now you’ve just got to remember to actually do it.”

“Alright,” Jack smiles at Bitty. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jack turns back to the dishes, smiling still. Maybe it is that simple. At least, the saying yes part. He may need to work on the follow through.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Bitty says putting the small bowl away, “there’s a free pop-up cafe the varsity sport captains are hosting next weekend. Do you want to come with Lardo and me?

“That’s alright,” Jack says automatically, finishing the last of the dishes and passing them off to Bitty. “I need to start on some research for another essay anyway.”

Bitty doesn’t take the bowl from Jack. He pushes it closer to Bitty before he notices Bitty is looking at him strangely. Then it hits him.

“I mean, yes,” Jack backtracks. “Yes. I’ll go with you two.”

“And you were doing so well!” Bitty exclaims, finally taking the bowl from Jack.

Jack hunches his shoulders up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. You’ve just got to practise. That’s all.” Again, Bitty makes it all sound simple.

The timer goes off and Bitty takes the trays out of the oven and puts them on the stovetop. Jack can tell easily which are his and which are Bitty’s.

“Can you get a plate we can put them on?”

Jack finds them on his first try. He watches as Bitty spends a good while arranging the cookies on the tray. He mixes theirs up together so that you can’t tell so much that two different hands made them. Jack’s pleased by that. Hopefully, Shitty won’t tease him for his lack of baking prowess.

Jack goes to grab the plate once Bitty is done, but Bitty stops him.

“I want to take a photo first.”

Jack waits while Bitty takes a few from different angles. “Got it!” he says, after the sixth shot. “Thanks Jack.”

Jack grabs the plate carefully and heads to the main room.

“Wait, wait,” Bitty halts Jack again. “Taste test first. If they’re terrible, I’m throwing them in the bin. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Bitty lifts the top one off the pile. “I think it’s one of yours,” he says, breaking it in half and popping one half into his mouth. He smiles at Jack, still chewing, and gives him a thumbs up.

“Reputation intact?” Jack asks.

Bitty swallows. “Oh yes. Here. See for yourself.”

Bitty holds the other half of the biscuit up to Jack’s mouth. He tries to bite only a little bit off so his lips don’t catch on Bitty’s fingers.

Bitty watches Jack chew, which makes the process take twice as long, or at least feel like it.

“So?” Bitty asks after he swallows.

“They’re good. Would you really have thrown them in the bin?”

Bitty laughs. “No way. I’m not about to waste food like that! I’m a college student. Besides, I’m pretty sure everyone’s tipsy enough not to care if they’re subpar.”

“They’re not,” Jack feels compelled to reassure Bitty again.

“Thanks. Must be your influence.”

Bitty grabs the plate from Jack and takes it into the main area. Everyone cheers when he puts the plate onto the table with a flourish. He turns and winks at Jack while the others scramble to grab cookies. It’s eerily silent for a few moments while everyone eats, and then the compliments start coming in thick and fast from everyone.

Jack’s warmed by the attention, and busies himself eating another cookie to save from having to reply.

**

“Oh, hey Jack.” Ransom stops in the middle of the hallway outside the bathroom Jack’s just left.

“Hi.”

With his conversation with Bitty on his mind, Jack takes advantage of the fact that they’re alone and voices something he’s been curious about since the kitchen. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Ransom agrees, leaning back against the wall opposite Jack.

Jack takes a moment to word it in his head, then asks, “How do you do it all? School and hockey and your social clubs and still have time for nights like this? And not get overwhelmed?”

Ransom nods slowly as Jack asks. He doesn’t answer right away, instead, he asks, “No pressure, but...can I ask why you want to know?”

“Because…” Jack looks at Ransom and sees what his life could be like if he wanted it to be. If he was less of the certain things that make Jack ‘Jack’—mainly his anxiety—and more someone who said ‘yes’ to opportunities.

Jack must be silent for too long as he thinks about it because Ransom moves the conversation on.

“Nevermind. You want the honest answer?”

Jack nods.

“Thankfully, it’s pretty simple. Meticulous time management. I have a—Oh wait. It’s on my phone. Let me get it up.”

Jack waits for Ransom to pull up a google sheet on his phone, then he flips it the right way and holds it up across the corridor for Jack to see.

“This is my life.”

Jack looks at the excel with it’s neat blocks, colour coded in some system that obviously makes sense to Ransom. It looks like a headache.

“Everything’s got a colour, and a set amount of hours I’ve decided to dedicate to it each week. I know it’s, like, overwhelming for most people—"

“Yeah,” Jack can’t help but say.

“—but it helps me focus.” Ransom pushes off the wall and moves to Jack’s side.

“I, uh, don’t handle stress well,” he tells Jack. “Or feeling pressured. To ace my classes, be friends with everyone, whatever it may be.”

Jack nods. Nothing Ransom is saying is new to him.

“When you’ve got as much on the go as I do,” Ransom continues, “the classes and the hockey and just like _life_ stuff—I used to get so overwhelmed by trying to cover everything at the same time. So now that I have this, it’s like—See here,” Ransom points to a column on the sheet, “I’ve got my classes and hockey practise, then time for homework. I do assessments Wednesdays and Thursday here, that one’s a study group, but around all of that stuff I’ve scheduled time for me.”

Jack turns his head to Ransom.

“I know, it’s weird. But by doing it like this, it makes it okay for me to have that time to myself and not be thinking about assessments or what drills I need to run at next practise. Get it?”

“I…” Jack looks at the spreadsheet again. “Not really.”

“Okay, let me—” Ransom frowns and lets the phone screen shut off while he thinks. “Have you ever felt guilty about doing something when you know you should be doing something else?” Ransom asks Jack.

Jack can answer that easily. He doesn’t even need to think beyond tonight. “Yes.”

“I don’t get that guilt anymore.”

“How?”

“The spreadsheet,” Ransom says, pointing at his phone. “If it’s assessment time, that’s what I’m doing—assessments. I’m not thinking about that game I’ve got tomorrow, or about what I’m wearing to that costume party. And when it’s free time on the excel…” He trails off and nods his head at Jack.

“You’re not thinking about the assessment,” Jack finishes for him.

“Yes! Exactly.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Jack eventually admits.

“Dude.” Ransom grips his shoulder, eyes wide. " _I know._ But keep in mind, it’s just my way of doing things. You’ve got to find something specific for you. But if you want to start with this, I am a master at excel. I’ll happily help you.”

Because of Bitty’s game, Jack choses an action outside his ordinary. “Yes,” he says to Ransom. “That would be great. Thank you.”

Ransom smiles at him “You’re very welcome, but now I’ve really gotta pee.” He slips past Jack and into the bathroom.

**

“ _There_ you are, Jack.” Shitty enters the kitchen with a stack of empty beer cans.

Jack has been standing in here by himself for a few minutes, slowly working his way through a glass of water. It’s nearing 1am. Lardo’s artwork is close to being fully coloured-in, and the entire case of beer has been consumed between the group. Jack even had a second one.

Jack walked out during a group conversation about a girl on the volleyball team who everyone seemed to know. Jack didn’t. Yesterday that wouldn’t have bothered him. Today, he sat quietly during the conversation and went through a complicated series of emotions, unsure of what they were trying to tell him. He came into the kitchen to work through it and still has no answer to why he felt sad.

“It’s quiet in there without you.”

“Ha, ha,” Jack says sarcastically, bringing himself back into the present. He downs the rest of his water then puts the glass in the sink, grabbing some cans off Shitty and helping him stack them on the counter to be recycled.

“Ah, you’re right. Still, your presence was missed.”

“By you, maybe.” Jack says it a little more seriously than intended.

“Not at all. By everyone!” Shitty adds the last of the cans to the pile then leans against the counter to Jack’s right. “I think you made quite the impression on Bitty, actually.”

“We hardly talked.”

“You guys were in here for twenty minutes making those cookies,” Shitty points out. “You spent that time in total silence?”

“Okay, so…we talked a little.”

“And…” He wiggles his eyebrows at Jack.

“And nothing, Shits. He’s nice. He’s good at baking.”

Jack doesn’t let himself say more than that, though there’s plenty more he could add about how he feels like he understands Bitty more now, and that Bitty knows him better too. How it feels nice to have opened up to someone and not have it dismissed or thrown in his face. How he thinks Bitty would be a good person to have as a friend.

“Alright,” Shitty says, but Jack knows with certainty that he’s going to be bringing this up again after tonight. “The cookies were amazing. You should get the recipe from Bitty so we can bake them at our place.”

“I can do that.”

“So, why’re you in here all by your lonesome anyways?”

“Just thinking,” Jack tells Shitty.

“Is it too much partying for one night?” Shitty asks, turning to face Jack, left hip leaning against the counter.

Jack shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Shitty nods slowly. “Which is why you’re hiding out in the kitchen.”

“I’m not hiding. Just...thinking. Like I said.”

“ _Is_ it too much, though?” Shitty asks again, softer. “I know you didn’t sign up for more than two hours.”

“So you do remember saying that,” Jack jokes.

“Yeah. ‘Course, Jack.” Shitty crowds up to Jack and leans his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Do you want to go?”

“But you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yes. But that’s not related to my question. Do _you_ want to go?” Shitty asks again. Jack knows without a doubt that if he says yes, Shitty will leave with him, no questions asked. He’s done it before, more times than he probably should have had to. Jack owes him, but he knows that neither of them see their friendship as transactional.

He thinks instead about himself. Does he want to go? Back at the first party, the answer was yes. Of course. He had that essay to submit, and he couldn’t say he was enjoying himself, only that he wasn’t not enjoying himself. Here though, at Lardo’s, with a small group of people who have made Jack feel welcome...

“No. I’m fine here,” Jack says truthfully. It’s not their fault that hearing them talk about their friendships made him feel lonely for a moment. “I…I like these people.”

Shitty smiles up at him, and Jack knows Shitty understands what an admission like that means for Jack.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come out tonight, man.”

Jack laughs and wraps his arms around Shitty in a hug.

“I love you like this,” Shitty says into Jack’s ear. His moustache scratches but Jack doesn’t mind.

It’s new and unsettled but Jack likes himself like this too.

******

“We’re back!” Shitty announces to the room after a few minutes of cuddling.

“You playing?” Lardo asks Jack. Shitty forewarned him they’d moved on to party games.

“Yeah. I’m in,” Jack says, sitting down on the space left on the couch next to Shitty.

Holster pumps his fists at Jack’s response, which Jack can’t help to laugh at. It’s so over the top, but Jack catches himself thinking it’s such a Holster reaction.

Jack has only played a handful of what could be considered party games, and most back before high school. Pass-the-parcel and limbo and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. He’s never played something like this. The lack of knowledge about what it involves actually makes it easier for him to agree.

“Who wants to go first?” Holster asks, then doesn’t give anyone a chance to reply before raising his own hand. “Okay. Great. I’ll go first. Number one, I have—"

“Wait,” Jack interrupts. Everyone turns to him and he feels his cheeks heating at the attention. “Sorry. It’s just, I’ve never played this before.”

“You should’ve asked that first,” Ransom admonishes Holster.

“Sorry. Sorry Jack.”

“It’s alright,” Jack’s quick to accept Holster’s apology. He wasn’t looking for it anyway. He just wants to know the rules.

“You take turns to say two truths and one lie about yourself,” Holster explains. “Then everyone has to guess which one is the lie.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jack nods but his stomach churns. He didn’t realise this game would be so personal.

“You can go near the end,” Shitty suggests. “So you can get a sense of how it all works.”

Jack nods and they get back to the game, with Holster listing three things that Jack would have thought could all be lies. While everyone is discussing which they think is the lie, he takes a moment to lean in to Shitty and thank him.

“Got your back, Jack,” Shitty whispers, before arguing that there’s no way Holster could have played young Cosette in his primary schools’ production of Les Mis (Shitty was right, but Holster was adamant he’d auditioned for the part.)

It’s an interesting game to watch, and while Jack may not say that much during the discussions—he doesn’t want to accidentally offend anyone—he does learn a lot. Facts about everyone, but also that these people are really close. They know a lot about each other. And even if they don’t know every single fact, they know enough that they can guess correctly every time which one is the lie.

Jack thought over his facts a lot, and doesn’t choose to divulge anything too personal. It’s actually nice to sit back and listen to the others try and figure out which one is the lie. Can Jack really speak three languages? Is he lying about having met Kate Winslet? He either has a terrible poker face, Shitty knows him too well, or the others have picked up on more than he thought he’d been communicating to them, because they end up choosing the lie correctly (he’s never learnt to drive). Then Jack has to sit through a rapid-fire questioning from Bitty and Holster about the time he met Kate Winslet and he doesn’t once feel embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

After one round of the game, they return their attention to the artwork. Jack colours in the final scale of his fish and sits back to admire his work. He smiles at the paper. It’s nice to see his fish sitting there amongst the others, all in greens but still blending in with everything around it.

“Brah, _niiice_.” Shitty pats Jack’s finished fish with his finger. “What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“But he’s got to have a name!” Bitty joins their conversation from across the table.

“I’ve named all of mine,” Holster says, pointing them out and listing off, “Leisl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and Gretl.”

“You named them after the Von Trapp kids?” Jack asks.

“You’ve seen _The Sound of Music_?” Holster asks Jack loudly.

“Yeah. Hasn’t everyone?” His mother used to watch it a few times a year with Jack when he was in primary school. He still knows all the words to ‘Lonely Goatherd’.

“Not me,” Lardo and Bitty say together, then high-five.

“What?!” Holster turns to yell at them instead. “How can you not have! It’s a classic. Okay, next time they show it at that retro theatre place on Main, I’m making you all go.”

“Will you buy us tickets?”

“No, as I’m not made of money. But I will bring snacks.”

“Sounds good,” Lardo says easily. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Bitty follows.

“You know I’m there,” Ransom adds.

“Is this an open invite?” Shitty asks Holster.

“Hell yeah. The more the merrier. We just need one more then we can dress up as the kids,” Holster comments, easily including Jack in the group.

“I did always think the curtain overalls looked cute,” Bitty comments. Jack immediately pictures Bitty in one of the outfits.

Holster narrows his eyes at him. “I thought you hadn’t seen it.”

“I haven’t, not the whole thing. But Captain Von Trapp is easy on the eyes and they’re always showing it on the classic movies channel.”

“Right on,” Lardo says, and they high-five again.

Someone’s phone starts ringing loudly over the music Bitty’s been playing from his phone.

“Dude!” Holster says, laughing. “I set that ring-tone as a joke _ages_ ago.”

“I kept forgetting to change it,” Ransom says of the pop song blaring from his phone. “I’m used to it now.” He stands up and moves somewhat away from the group though not into the other room like Jack would have.

“I think this is the quickest we’ve ever finished one of these,” Lardo says as she starts shoving the textas back into their case.

“Whose turn is it?” Bitty asks.

“Uh… back to the top I think?”

“Yeah. I took the last one,” Holster agrees, though to what, Jack’s unsure.

Lardo turns to Shitty and Jack then. “Must be your turn. You wanna take this masterpiece home?”

“Serious?” Shitty asks her.

Lardo nods. “Yeah, for sure. Welcome to the club or something. ‘Sides, I can hardly fit any more on my walls.”

Jack looks around the room again, re-noticing the posters plastered on the walls. Now that he knows what he’s looking at, more than half of them seem to be Lardo’s creations.

“Jack?” Shitty waits for confirmation.

Jack nods. “Thanks, Lardo.”

“Wait another few months and you’ll be just as overrun as I am. Let me grab an elastic for you,” she says to Shitty, who has already rolled the paper up ready to take home later.

“Who was that?” Bitty asks Ransom as he rejoins from the corner.

“March.”

“Volleyball March?” Jack recognises the name—she’s the volleyball player they were discussing earlier.

“Yep. Serendipitous, right. There’s a party happening right now and my presence has been specifically requested. As has yours bro.” Ransom slaps his hands down on Holster’s shoulders.

“Sweet. April there too?”

“You know it.”

“What’re we doing this time?”

“Don’t know, but I think there’s costumes involved.”

“Awesome.”

“You good for clear-up?” Ransom asks Lardo, though Holster is already at the door putting his shoes back on.

“We’re basically done,” she tells Ransom. “Go for your life.”

Ransom grins and gives her a quick hug.

“Say hi to Chowder if he’s there,” Bitty requests as Ransom farewells him.

“Sure thing, Bitty”.

“And don’t forget about your date tomorrow,” Holster shouts from the front door.

“Oh. That.” Bitty turns and catches Jack’s eye. He clears his throat and switches his gaze back to Holster. “I had forgotten that was happening.”

“Put it in your phone, or something,” Ransom prompts. “It’ll be great. Mark’s really looking forward to it.”

Bitty nods at Ransom. “Okay.”

Goodbyes are repeated by everyone except Jack, who sits there feeling off, like something has changed in the past few minutes.

In the flurry of farewells and packing up, Jack retreats to the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and turns the tap on, washing his hands for something to do. He shuts the tap off and curls his fingers round the edge of the washbasin, watching the suds flow into the sink.

He feels like a heavy stone just sat itself in his gut. When he looks at his reflection in the mirror it confuses him more.

“Why are you frowning?” he asks his reflection.

The answer is thankfully easy to figure out. He’s sad. It’s the next part that’s tricky.

“Why?” he asks himself again.

His hands are almost dry by the time it comes to him. The thing that caused his change of mood. Bitty has a date tomorrow. Then he has to ask himself again, because that answer isn’t enough.

“Why?”

If Holster had said the same to Lardo, Jack knows he wouldn’t have reacted the way he has, with the sinking feeling and disappointment. So therefore, logically, he feels different about Bitty than he does about Lardo and if he feels different, how is it different and why is it different.

It’s then that Jack realises he’s had this thought process before. Years ago, but he still remembers it well. Locking himself in his own bedroom that time but wondering why it felt different to hear about Jaime’s crush on Susan than it had anyone else’s.

Jack blinks at his reflection as it hits home. Oh.

“You like him,” he whispers. “You like him and he has a date tomorrow. That’s why you’re frowning.”

Though figuring it out brings its own relief, it’s a pitiful nod to his revelation because while he now knows what he’s feeling, he also knows he can’t act on it, not with Bitty having a date tomorrow morning.

By the time he’s processed all of that he knows he’s spent too long in the bathroom. Jack returns to the main room, his eyes immediately finding Bitty. He’s over by the front door, jacket back on and lacing his shoes, clearly ready to leave. Jack’s stomach swoops in disappointment. Just because he can’t act on his feelings toward Bitty, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to spend more time with him. He enjoys it.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I’ve invited them over to our place to watch some TV,” Shitty says, holding a large plastic bag for Lardo to throw the few remaining empty beer cans and used napkins into.

Jack looks back to Bitty and his stomach swoops again.

“Neither of us have an actual TV,” Lardo explains. “Didn’t want to pass up the chance to watch on a decent sized screen.”

Jack nods, dragging his eyes away from Bitty to look at Lardo, but not before he catches a strange shift of expression on Bitty’s face.

Bitty waits until Lardo and Shitty have taken the trash into the kitchen before approaching Jack. He wraps his fingers lightly around Jack’s wrist. Jack’s glad for the layers of clothing between Bitty’s fingers and his own pulse, which spikes like it’s reminding Jack of his newly discovered feelings.

“Is that okay with you, Jack?”Bitty asks softly. “I know Shitty lives there, but so do you. If you’re not comfortable with us going, I’m sure everyone would be happy to stay here and watch on Lardo’s laptop.”

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t want his feelings to get in the way of anyone’s night.

Bitty looks at Jack for long enough that he has to break their gaze, worried he’ll be able to see into Jack’s thoughts and figured out what’s there. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Bitty yet. He wants to know whether he’ll feel different around him, notice him differently now he’s figured his feelings out.

“Alright.” Jack can tell Bitty isn’t convinced, but all he does is tighten the fingers around Jack’s wrist for a second then lets go.

**

Jack hangs a step behind the others as they walk alongside the river to his and Shitty’s place. He feels calm about his discovery. It reminds him of when he realised he and Shitty were friends, and how a lot of his own and Shitty’s actions suddenly made sense when Jack looked back at them. Still, it’s unpleasant to have figured out what he’s feeling toward Bitty at the same time as realising he can’t pursue it. Bitty has a date tomorrow, and perhaps more than that, Bitty knows Jack knows he does. Jack can imagine how it would it play if Jack started showing affection toward Bitty only after learning he’s got a date tomorrow.

Shitty leads them across the bridge by the library. Jack stops to look out at the river, cutting its way through the centre of Samwell. He doesn’t stop and look when he does this route on his run, but at night, with the moon on the water, it’s nice. Next time he crosses on his run, he’s going to make sure to stop. Better than that, maybe he’ll walk here one afternoon with his camera and take a photo of it. He hasn’t touched his camera in a while. He’s not 100% certain where it is, even. Probably the back of his closet. He frames the river in his mind and smiles. He’ll take it out tomorrow, after his essay is submitted.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Jack startles as Bitty comes up beside him.

“Sorry,” Bitty apologises. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright.” Jack tells Bitty honestly.

Bitty smiles at Jack then folds his arms on the bridge railing. “So. What _were_ you thinking about?”

Jack almost says ‘nothing’, but he’s looking at Bitty, and feeling centred—from his earlier revelation and his decision to take out his camera tomorrow—so he turns back to look out at the river and says, “I was thinking that I wish I had my camera with me to take a photo of the lake.”

“You’re a photographer?” Bitty’s eyebrows raise before he smiles at Jack. “That’s incredible.”

“Not really,” Jack says, ducking his head. “I just like taking photos.”

“Which is what a photographer does.” Bitty bumps his elbow into Jack.

“Yeah, I, uh, guess so.” He looks to Bitty, who is still smiling up at him. “I guess I am.”

“Am what?”

“A photographer.”

Bitty beams. Jack smiles back. It’s easy. He doesn’t have to think about it.

“What’s your Instagram. I’ll follow you.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?”

“I’m not a big social media user. Shitty’s showed me his Instagram a few times, and I’ve got Facebook—”

“Thank god,” Bitty says heavily.

“—but that’s it. I don’t use it much anyway.”

Bitty narrows his eyes. “How old is your profile pic?”

“Uh…” Jack can barely remember what it is, actually. He doesn’t pay attention to it when he’s on Facebook. Just clicks through his notifications then logs off.

“Your silence tells me everything,” Bitty says. “Why don’t you use it that much? I mean, I can understand not scrolling through your news feed—I barely do—but it’s good for keeping up with friends. Organising events and group chats and things.”

“Beside Shitty, I don’t really have—” Jack stops himself from finishing.

Bitty falls silent.

Jack didn’t mean to be that blunt about it. He didn’t finish the sentence but he’s sure Bitty figured out what word was going to be there.

It’s probably on his mind from his talk with Shitty at the beginning of the night. Now Bitty knows, and even though he likes Bitty—or maybe especially because he likes Bitty—that’s not a truth you share so early in a relationship. Friendship or otherwise.

“Jack?”

Jack turns to Bitty. He’s expecting to see pity, or hear an apology. Bitty surprises him.

“Can I set up an Instagram account for you?”

“Why?”

“For fun?” Bitty shrugs. “And actually… I think you might really like it.”

Jack looks at Bitty, who’s smiling hopefully at Jack. “I’m not sure…” he says, even as he decides he’s going to let Bitty do it. Anything to take the conversation away from his near-slip about his lack of friends.

“You don’t have to post anything to it,” Bitty reasons. “You can just follow people you know. Or celebrities or authors you like, or—But maybe that’s going too far for now.”

“Alright. You can make an account for me.”

Bitty straightens up and hold his palm out, grinning. “Phone please?”

Jack smiles at the enthusiasm as he unlocks his phone and hands it over.

Bitty stares at his phone background. “Did you take this picture?” Jack nods. “It’s nice. Where is it?”

“That’s back home. Montreal.”

“It looks beautiful,” Bitty says sincerely. “So different from anything you see down in Georgia.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to Georgia,” he tells Bitty.

“And I’ve never been to Montreal.”

Jack watches Bitty download the Instagram app onto his phone.

“So, first things first…account name. What do you want it to be?”

“Oh, uh…can I just use my name?” Jack asks.

“Sure. If it’s not taken already. Let me type it in. Surname?”

“Zimmermann.” Jack moves a half-step closer to Bitty so he can watch him typing. “Double ‘n’ on the end,” he corrects.

“Sorry. Oh, damn. Someone’s already using your name. Let me play around, see what variations are free.”

Bitty tries a few, huffing at each unsuccessful entry. Jack thought this was meant to be fun, but it doesn’t seem like Bitty’s finding a lot of joy in the activity right now.

“What’s your middle name?” Bitty asks Jack as he’s about to tell Bitty to forget about it.

“Laurent.”

“Thanks,” Bitty says, still staring at Jack’s phone and entering yet another username. “A-ha! Okay. Got one. Happy?”

He holds the screen up to Jack’s face. Jack wraps his fingers around Bitty’s wrist lightly to steady his hand and reads the username Bitty’s chosen: jlzimmermann.

“I like it,” Jack says, moving his eyes off the screen and to Bitty.

The slight step Jack took earlier has brought them close. Jack has to tilt his head down to look into Bitty’s eyes. They’re warm in the night’s darkness and Jack involuntarily tightens his fingers around Bitty’s wrist.

Bitty clears his throat and pulls his hand out of Jack’s wrist. He doesn’t step away. “Right. Well. That’s that sorted.” Bitty says in a voice more gravelly than Jack’s heard from him before.

“Thanks,” Jack means to say, but whispers instead.

Bitty’s eyes dart to Jack’s, then he looks off down the path to where Lardo and Shitty are barely in view anymore.

“Should we catch up?” Jack offers, watching Bitty bite his lip and twirl Jack’s phone in his hand.

Bitty seems relieved Jack’s made the suggestion. He nods and pulls away from the railing to follow Lardo and Shitty.

“You should add in an icon photo,” Bitty continues, voice normal again. “I’ll show you how to post when we’re at your place and there’s proper light and not just the moon.”

Jack thinks to himself the moon is lighting enough. Bitty looks beautiful in it.

“Can I have my phone back then?”

“Just. One second.” Jack keeps his eyes on the path as Bitty spends another minute on his phone. It’s only for a second when Bitty hands is back, and their fingers touch, that Jack thinks to be anxious about Bitty having control of his phone.

Jack’s phone is still open to Instagram. Bitty has followed a few accounts for him, so there are pictures already on there. The first photo is Ransom and Holster with two girls Jack assumes are March and April. The second photo makes him pause.

Bitty must have taken it, although the account name is ‘omgcheckplease’. It’s a photo of Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom and Holster crowded around Lardo’s coffee table, colouring-in.

“Alright, Jack?”

Jack looks up. Bitty has stopped a few paces ahead of him. The way he’s smiling at Jack makes Jack think their conversation didn’t move away from his near-slip at all.

Jack looks back at the photo on his phone. “Friday night fun with friends” Bitty has captioned it. There’s a heart symbol below it. He clicks on it, then jogs the few steps to Bitty’s side.

“Yes. I am.”

**

Jack sits up in his bed, surprisingly awake for the time of morning. The last hour has been spent watching _Nailed It_ on Netflix and eating through a block of chocolate Jack had hidden in the freezer. Shitty found out Jack got an Instagram account and convinced Jack to take a group photo of the four of them squeezed together on the one couch. It wasn’t a good photo—only half of Jack’s face in frame and the light from the TV making them yellow—but Jack liked how happy they all look. Like friends. Bitty stayed squished beside him on the couch as he walked Jack through posting it. Bitty had immediately liked it, smiling beside Jack as he dropped a handful of emojis into a comment and nudged Jack as he posted.

It still makes Jack’s stomach swoop remembering it. A lot of moments from tonight cause that same reaction, right back to bumping into Bitty at the party, before he even knew who Bitty was. Jack wonders if his feelings toward Bitty started from that first moment. He remembers watching him walk away down the corridor, and later picking him out from a crowd of people dancing.

Jack’s interrupted from his thoughts by the door to his room opening. He’s immediately tense but the tightness slips a little when he sees it’s Bitty in the doorway.

“Oh, Jack. I’m sorry.” He leans back into the corridor with a frown. “I swore Shitty said second door along.”

Jack exhales and lets the rest of the tension slide away from his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he tells Bitty honestly. “Bathroom’s the next one along.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Bitty doesn’t shut the door all the way as he leaves but Jack can’t be bothered to close it. It makes more sense when Bitty opens it up again on his way back and takes a half step into Jack’s room.

“May I?” he asks.

Jack nods. Bitty smiles at him and goes to sit on the desk chair where Jack’s laptop is still open to his essay.

“Is this the famous essay you’ve got due tomorrow?” Bitty asks, glancing at it. Jack feels a little uneasy at the attention Bitty’s given to it, but history clearly has no interest to him and after a second he swivels the chair around to face Jack.

It’s a little awkward for a moment as Jack waits for Bitty to bring up whatever he came in here for. “I see you went for my suggestion of retreating to your room.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s unsure what else to say.

“Expectations?” Bitty asks without judgement.

“A little.”

Bitty nods and looks away from him. He presses his hands together between his legs and turns the chair to look around Jack’s room. Like when Bitty was looking at his essay, Jack finds himself uncomfortable to have Bitty’s attention fixed so closely on something that’s his. He notices little things that wouldn’t usually bother him, that he wouldn’t care if Shitty saw—socks waiting to be paired and put away, an unwashed coffee mug, his small set of classical CDs—and worries that Bitty will judge him for them.

He adjusts his position on the bed and clears his throat, hoping to pull Bitty’s attention. He does. He hadn’t planned for after that.

“Did you...need something?” he asks.

Bitty shakes his head. “It’s different out there without you,” he says in a near-echo of Shitty’s earlier phrase. It’s not an answer really. Or it’s the reason Bitty’s walked into his room instead of going back to the main area.

Bitty spins side to side on Jack’s chair. There’s a nervous energy to it that makes Jack think more words are forthcoming. Bitty remains silent long enough Jack thinks he’s been proven wrong, but then he takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve been wanting to say that…”

It’s as far as he gets before he bites his lips and the silence returns.

“I was just about to go back out there,” Jack offers, so Bitty can drop whatever he was struggling to say.

“Oh. Okay.” Bitty stills the chair and nods once at Jack. “Good.”

Jack gets off the bed and opens his bedroom door. Bitty remains on the chair, brow furrowed.

“Coming?” Jack has to ask him.

“Is it strange that I’ve only known you since Lardo’s but I want to tell you about myself?”

Jack freezes. Bitty’s confession is a surprise. A hot bolt of feeling runs up his arms before hitting his lungs and he stops breathing for a second.

Jack wants to say, ‘it’s not strange’, he wants to say ‘me too’ or even ‘I’ve told you things I’ve barely confessed to Shitty’.

“It was earlier than Lardo’s,” Jack says instead, lightheaded from holding his breath.

Bitty frowns at him.

“We ran into each other at the party. In the corridor,” Jack reminds him.

Bitty cocks his head to the side and Jack’s nerves flare waiting for Bitty to respond. He doesn’t want to hear him deny it. It was their first meeting. Jack cares that Bitty remembers it.

Bitty doesn’t say anything, but he gets out of Jack’s chair and walks slowly over to him. Jack watches him move closer until there’s only a foot of space between them.

“Do these work?”

It takes a second for Jack to pull his gaze from Bitty’s eyes to see what he’s pointing to.

“Yeah. Yes.” He clears his throat. “Shitty put them up a few weeks ago.”

Bitty nods and flicks them on, then reaches past Jack to turn his bedroom light off. The only light in the room now comes from a single strand of fairy lights draped along Jack’s bookcase.

Jack’s eyes are back on Bitty, whose eyes trail over Jack’s face methodically.

There’s still a slight frown on his face as he says, “I remember.”

Jack wants to sigh in relief but he’s so close to Bitty, all he can manage is shallow breaths that barely raise his chest.

“You look different under fairy lights,” Bitty continues. “Less...you.”

Jack doesn’t understand what Bitty means by that. To him, Bitty looks the same, though right now there’s an obvious lack of a smile on his face.

“It’s not strange,” Jack finally answers Bitty’s earlier question. “I feel...Me too.”

Bitty nods once, eyes locking back on Jack’s. He shifts his weight and leans closer, at the same time, dropping his gaze to Jack’s chest. “I know what you mean about expectations.”

It takes Jack ages to realise what he said that Bitty is referring to. Their conversation in the kitchen at Lardo’s place. He hadn’t realised it had struck a chord with Bitty. Maybe that’s why he was working so hard through the night to let Jack know he didn’t have to stay if he was only doing so because he thought it was expected of him.

“They can get a person into a lot of mess if you’re not careful,” he whispers.

His eyes flick up to Jack’s and Jack can see half the story in his eyes—regret and sadness. He wants to know what the cause was, what past event Bitty is referring to, but the setting isn’t right. Not with their proximity, and the lights, and the other thoughts creeping in his mind.

“You can stay in here for a bit,” Jack offers his room as temporary sanctuary.

“You don’t want to ask me about it?” Bitty asks, surprise in his tone.

Jack shakes his head. Bitty already confessed he wants to tell Jack about himself. If he wants to tell him the rest of this story, he’s sure Bitty will. He doesn’t want to force it.

“I’ll see you out there.” Jack steps reluctantly back from Bitty.

Bitty sighs and reaches an arm out to halt Jack, resting his fingers lightly on Jack’s chest. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I just spent a lot of time tonight thinking about what you told me. I wanted to let you know that I get it. That’s all.”

Jack doesn’t think whatever experience Bitty is drawing from can be wrapped up with a ‘that’s all’.

“Let’s go back out.” The smile is back on Bitty’s face and though Jack can see it’s weak, he lets Bitty lead him.

**

Bitty was right about things being different without Jack there. Or Jack assumes he was, because when Bitty falls asleep into episode two of the second season, something changes around Jack. It doesn’t take long to figure out what it is, especially not when Shitty manages to drag Jack away from Lardo into the kitchen.

“I know you do,” Jack says with a smile when Shitty confesses that he likes Lardo. “We’ve been friends for years. I can see it on your face.”

“Never could help wearing my heart on my sleeve. Or my face,” Shitty jokes, pressing his hands to his flushed cheeks. “You going to be alright here if I go home with Lardo? Lardo said she’s happy to wake Bitty up for you.”

Jack shakes his head. “I’ll be good. Let him sleep. It’s fine.”

“Alright. I need to go grab my coat and some condoms, and —”

“Shits!”

“—and change out of these shoes. What? Are you against me practising safe sex?”

Jack sighs. “Just don’t trip over the books this time. Bitty could be a light sleeper.”

Lardo’s shut off the TV and stacked the water glasses together on the table when Jack goes back into the lounge area.

“Hey,” she whispers, nodding to Jack. “Shitty says you’re fine to let Bitty crash here tonight?”

Jack nods.

“Thanks for that. He’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so don’t worry too much about keeping quiet.”

“Good to know.”

Jack leads Lardo to the front door and they wait for Shitty to return.

“This has been a fun night,” Lardo comments as she zips up her jacket.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees.

“Next Sunday the group’s getting brunch at Jerry’s. You wanna come?”

“Oh,” Jack lets out, surprised by the invitation. “I think Shitty’s got something on, so I’m—”

“Jack. Stop.”

Jack shuts his mouth.

“I’m just going to say it clearly, because for some reason, I think it hasn’t sunk in to your brain.” Lardo waits until Jack nods at her before she goes on. “I like your company.”

Jack’s palm heat up and he doesn’t know how to react to the compliment. He isn’t sure anyone, ever, even Shitty, has outright said they like being in his company.

“Will you come next weekend?” Lardo asks again.

“Shitty still won’t be there,” Jack can’t help but say.

Lardo rolls her eyes. “Dude. I know. I already invited him. And now I’m inviting you. So…”

Jack thinks about it. Thinks over the last few hours and how he went from distracted, looking at his phone and desperate to get back to his essay, to opening up to these people who he couldn’t have named a day ago.

“I’ll be there.”

Lardo bumps an elbow gently into him. “Great.”

Jack finds he’s already looking forward to it.

Shitty comes out of his room then, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bitty doesn’t rouse.

“Shall we?” he asks Lardo, opening the door for her.

“Yep. See ya next Sunday, Jack. I’ll grab your number off Shitty at some point.”

“Go for it,” Jack tells her, happy to hear the ‘at some’ point which means she’s as into Shitty as Shitty is into her.

“Don’t stay up too late—or is it ‘early’ now?—with that essay.” Shitty cautions.

“I won’t,” Jack assures him.

“If Bitty wakes up,” Lardo says, “tell him Shitty’s bed’s empty.”

She steps out the door and walks down the corridor.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Shitty says with a wink and a big goofy smile.

“Be safe,” Jack says, just to try and rile Shitty.

Shitty merely winks at him and pats his coat pocket. “Always,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

Jack’s alone with Bitty. He makes his way quietly over to the couch and looks down at Bitty, curled up against the arm-rest. Jack debates carrying him into Shitty’s room, but he doesn’t want to risk waking Bitty, so he leaves him be. He also doesn’t want Bitty to wake up alone in case he’s confused about where he is, so he takes his laptop out of his room and returns to the main area, lowering himself slowly into the beanbag next to the couch. He opens his essay. He yawns all the way through reading it but after one read-through, Bitty still hasn’t woken up. He’s a quiet sleeper, and still as well. Jack broke concentration a few times just watching him. It’s such a contrast to how Bitty normally is—energy and spark and life. It’s like he’s recharging. Jack tries not to look at him too much, worried that he’ll be caught even though Bitty is sleeping for the moment.

He returns to his essay, beginning a second read through. He’s almost finished when Bitty wakes up. He rolls over and sighs. Jack saves his document and watches as Bitty rubs his eyes before opening them, looking around the room. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, face set in a frown, before his expression clears when he sees Jack.

Bitty’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Jack.” His voice is still croaky.

Jack shuts his laptop and moves it onto the floor. “Hi.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Not that long.”

Bitty pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it. “God. Three am.” He groans and rubs his eyes with his palm.

Jack watches Bitty push himself upright, stretch out his neck then roll his shoulders.

“Where’re the others?” Bitty asks, looking around.

“They’ve gone back to Lardo’s.”

Bitty nods. “Is Shitty coming back?”

“No.”

Bitty shakes his head and blows out a huff of air from his nose. “Saw that one coming a mile off,” he says wryly, running a hand over his hair. “Guess I should head off too, then.”

“Shitty said you could have his bed.”

Bitty looks to Jack. “Would you be alright with that?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that?”

Jack’s already thought about it during those moments when he was watching Bitty sleep. Does he mind that he’s in Jack’s space? No. Would Jack feel strange about it the next morning? No.

“I’m not just saying it,” he assures Bitty.

Bitty nods. “Okay. Then yes, that would be great. I wasn’t looking forward to walking back to my place at this time of night.”

Jack lets Bitty use the bathroom first to get ready. While he’s in there, Jack strips the sheets off Shitty’s bed and grabs a clean set from the cupboard. He’s wrestling the last corner of the fitted sheets onto the mattress when Bitty steps out of the bathroom.

“You didn’t have to bother doing this,” he tells Jack.

“It’s not a problem,” he says, finally managing to get the sheet in place.

“Can I borrow a phone charger?” Bitty asks Jack as he’s reaching for the top sheet.

“Of course. Let me go get it.”

“Thanks Jack. I’ll finish the bed.”

By the time Jack’s located his spare charger within a box of miscellaneous tech, Bitty’s finished the bed and is sitting cross-legged on top of the covers, waiting for Jack.

“Thanks.” Bitty takes the charger and plugs it in by the bed. “I wanted to set an alarm so—Oh!” Bitty makes a noise of surprise.

Jack immediately sits down next to Bitty. “What is it?”

“Instagram was still up from earlier.” Bitty angles the phone towards Jack. “That’s Mark. The guy I’ve got that thing—that date—with tomorrow.” They both look down at the phone until the screen goes dim, but Bitty touches it again to bring the light back to full. Jack hopes Mark isn’t indicative of Bitty’s type. He’s tall at least, but also gangly with curly red hair, freckles and glasses.

“At least we’re both having late nights,” Bitty says eventually.

Jack should let that be his signal to leave Bitty, let him sleep properly before tomorrow.

“Why aren’t you already seeing someone?” he asks Bitty instead. He blames his sleep-deprived brain for it but truthfully, he’s been wondering all night, especially since working out his own feelings.

“What…what do you mean?”

Jack shrugs and looks away from Bitty. “You’re kind. Funny. Can cook. Attractive. I just…” He hadn’t meant to say that last one. His palms heat where they grip the edge of the mattress.

“You just…” Bitty prompts.

“I’m just confused.” Jack confesses, looking back to Bitty as he cements himself on the path of this conversation. For better or worse, no matter what Bitty may discover about his feelings. “I don’t get why you’re letting them set you up on dates when I’m sure you can get them for yourself.”

Bitty’s lips part a little; he’s surprised, Jack would guess. He looks down at his phone, flicking a corner of the phone-case off and on again. “I guess it’s like…I have an excuse? If things go really badly. Does that—I’ve never thought too much about it.”

Jack nods, something in him resonating with what Bitty is saying.

“Does that make sense?” Bitty asks, still playing with his phone case. “Like, I didn’t choose them myself, so it doesn’t matter if we didn’t connect.”

“It makes sense. But I think you could connect with anyone. We’ve only known each other one night and I—” Jack clears his throat. “We’re getting on.”

“Yeah, but I like you, Jack.” Bitty shoots him a quick glance and a wry smile. “I don’t like all the guys Ransom and Holster set me up with.”

“Right. Which is an issue if you want to be in a relationship.”

Bitty lets out a harsh laugh and finally lets his phone be. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Jack hesitates over saying what he’s thinking, but something in Bitty’s demeanor makes him want to try. “There _is_ a solution.”

“Please,” Bitty says immediately, looking to Jack. “What is it?”

“Pick your own dates.”

Bitty’s shoulders drop and his head along with it. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jack challenges.

“I tried it. It didn’t go so well.”

It’s a heavy phrase. Jack wonders if this has anything to do with the expectations Bitty was referring to in his room.

Jack can sense that Bitty is becoming disillusioned with their conversation, but he doesn’t want to drop it in the middle. “How many times did you try?” he prods.

Jack thinks he’s made the wrong call as Bitty stands up and steps away from the bed. “Does it matter?” he asks, strained, pacing Shitty’s room.

“I think so.”

Bitty crosses his arms. “Once. Which is enough that I don’t trust myself to do it anymore.”

“No-one knows you like you know yourself though.” Jack regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. So saccharine to be almost meaningless. “That was…I’m sorry. I sound like a Hallmark card.”

It does stop Bitty pacing at least. “No, please. You didn’t. It’s—”

Jack cuts Bitty off with a look.

“Okay. You did a little bit but…you’re right.” He drops his arms by his sides. “You’re right.”

“I only meant that surely you’re the best person to choose for you. Choose someone to date.”

Bitty sighs again. It’s a sound Jack’s becoming very familiar with. “I know. _I know_.” Bitty runs a hand through his hair. “And I have a bunch of apps and I try meeting guys at parties, but like it’s just such an _effort_ ,” Bitty throws his arms wide, “And I’m barely passing half my classes right now, so I feel doubly-bad about caring about this stuff, but I do, so then I get frustrated ‘cause it’s like I just… I know the recipe I want to cook but I don’t have the right ingredients.”

Bitty drops his arms finally. He closes his eyes and Jack can see the tiredness he’s referring to. He’s noticed flashes of it through the night but Bitty’s always had a smile on his face to mask it quick enough that Jack started to doubt what he was seeing. Bitty’s not masking it any more.

Whether it’s conscious or not for Bitty to let his guard down now and with Jack specifically, Jack knows he needs to trust Bitty’s confession of tiredness at his situation. It’s easy to. At the beginning of the night, Jack wouldn’t have thought it possible that he and Bitty could have anything in common besides Samwell, but this frustration Jack knows well.

Jack sees another chance to backtrack out of this conversation. Bitty is truly uncomfortable now, avoiding eye-contact and frowning, not to mention still virtually on the other side of the room from Jack. Jack recognises avoidance techniques when he sees them. He knows that this is something Bitty needs to address head on, and clearly hasn’t been from how unpolished his words are. Jack understands he’s probably entirely the wrong person to help Bitty with that—a few hours acquaintance does not a confidant make—but then again, maybe he’s exactly the right person. Someone new who doesn’t know Bitty well and hasn’t tried already. Who, if Bitty wants to, he never has to talk to again after tonight.

The thought doesn’t comfort Jack, but he can’t let the simmering tension in the room continue. For the final time he’s got to back off or push through. He chooses the latter, hoping he hasn’t misread Bitty opening up to the idea of this conversation. He had been so hopeful earlier when Jack mentioned a solution. He wants to lift Bitty back up, if he can. Not force him into his happy mask, but make him see that it’s not futile to keep trying. Jack knows from experience it rarely helps for someone to give the answer to you on a silver platter. Instead, he falls back on something.

Jack asks quietly, “Why are you frustrated?”

Bitty shrugs, eyes lifting to Jack. “Because I’ve been letting Holster and Ransom set me up on dates for almost a year? And nothing has happened.”

Jack nods. “Why hasn’t anything happened?” he asks.

“Because…I don’t know.” Bitty shrugs and shifts his eyes to the wall behind Jack. “‘Cause none of the guys have been great, maybe? Nice enough, yes, and good looking mostly and sometimes we’d click but nothing...great.”

“Why not?” Jack digs deeper.

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you _think_ it is then?” Jack tries again.

Bitty huffs out and Jack can see annoyance in his eyes when he looks back to Jack. “ _I don’t know_.”

“Guess,” Jack pushes.

“Because I—Do we have to do this?” Bitty crosses his arms.

“Yes. What were you about to say?”

“Because they’re not what I’m looking for.”

“Which is?”

“I—”

“Don’t say you don’t know.”

“I _do_ know,” Bitty says tersely. “I just—”

“What are you looking for?”

“Why do you keep asking that?” Bitty accuses Jack. There’s anger in his eyes. Jack takes it without flinching because he can see that Bitty is close to breaking through.

Jack stands up. “What do you want?”

“I want someone to choose me, Jack! Okay?”

Bitty hurls the declaration out, fingers jabbing into his own chest.

In the silence afterwards, Bitty’s harsh breathing is the only sound. His eyes are still locked on Jack’s, who gets to watch as Bitty’s expression shifts from anger to shock to surprise—that dawning realisation that Jack was hoping to move Bitty toward. As Jack watches the tight bunching up of Bitty’s shoulder fade, he feels..it’s not happiness. It’s something closer to proud.

Bitty blinks and pushes his palms into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” His voice is hoarse.

Bitty drops his hands and looks to Jack. “How did...How did you know?” he asks quietly.

Jack doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to.

“My parents used to do this with me,” Jack tells Bitty. “I wasn’t very good at recognising what I was feeling, or more _why_ I was feeling. They used to sit down with me and do like what we just did. ‘Why this? Why that?’ until I could figure out what was making me…sad, angry, annoyed. Then I could fix it.”

Bitty breathes slowly. “Jack, that’s…Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Bitty bites his lip, still looking at Jack. “Do you still do it?” he asks quietly.

“Sometimes. Just with myself.”

Bitty nods. “So I guess, now that I know the problem, I’ve got to find a fix?”

“That’s the idea.”

Bitty groans softly. “That seems worse than what we just did somehow.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight. We’re both tired. You can sort it out tomorrow.”

Bitty smiles gratefully at Jack. He walks back over to the bed, stepping close by Jack, and sits down, tucking his hands under his thighs.

“The truth is, I know what the fix is.”

Bitty stares across at the far wall, frowning gently. Jack doesn’t say anything. Bitty will tell him if he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s enough for Jack that Bitty has his fix.

“I want someone to choose me.” Bitty whispers. “I want someone who chooses me.”

 _No wonder blind dates aren’t working_ , Jack thinks but doesn’t say. Neither person is choosing in that scenario. It hurts Jack that Bitty’s put himself through a year of it knowing it’s not working.

“I want someone to choose me,” Bitty repeats, clearer this time, turning to Jack so he can see the desperation on his face. “I love doing things for people, making things for people but it’s not…I’m not like that all the time. Sometimes I need someone to be that for me. To look at me and know that’s what I need, even if I’m—Maybe I’m not going to show it or say it. But I want to have someone choose to put me first in those moments. In other moments too. Just because they want to. That’s what I need. What I want.”

Bitty laughs bitterly. “My first relationship was… not like that.” Jack immediately fears the worse, but shuts that part of his brain off to listen as Bitty continues. “I was so caught up in finally being out that I said yes to the first guy who asked me on a date and didn’t realise until later I wasn’t getting any of the stuff I wanted from our relationship. I’d settled.”

Part of Jack is relieved that his darker imaginings were unfounded, but he knows intimately the feeling of having settled. It’s not an experience he wants for Bitty.

“Bitty, can I say something?”

Bitty nods.

Jack thinks of where to begin, trying to put himself in Bitty’s shoes and hear it in his head before he says it. “I understand what you’re saying, but I think that…I mean…Please don’t take this the wrong way, I don’t mean offence, but in a way…” Jack knows he’s making it worse by muddling around it.

He sits down on the bed, leaving space between Bitty and himself. He takes a breath to ground himself. “Isn’t what you’re doing like settling as well?”

Bitty goes tense.

“I’m only saying this because I know what it’s like. I’ve been—still am—where you’re standing.”

Bitty doesn’t react, still holding himself entirely too still a foot away from Jack on the bed.

“You’re not settling for a person, but you’re settling for a situation,” Jack explains his observation. “Like you’ve decided to never connect with someone until they prove they’ll choose you. But you won’t know that until you take the chance. There’s always going to be a risk but, if it’s something you want, isn’t it worth it?”

Bitty turns away from Jack but there’s no hiding the affect his words have had. Bitty’s shoulders hunch up and he stops breathing for seconds before he gasps, sucking in a huge lungful of breath. When it comes back out it’s a sob.

Jack only means to pat Bitty’s back, but as soon as his arm is up, Bitty’s falling into him and holding on tightly to the fabric of his shirt. Jack reacts. His arms wrap around Bitty and he holds him while Bitty breathes raggedly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I overstepped.”

“No. No, Jack. Please don’t.” Bitty chokes out. “I needed to hear it.”

Jack rubs Bitty’s back, all the while feeling appalled at himself. Yes, he chose to push this with Bitty but he didn’t want _this_ to happen.

Bitty doesn’t cry for long. Less than a minute of comforting Bitty, and Jack is dropping his arms so Bitty can push back. He can feel a wet spot on his shirt but it’s below his care right now.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you like that,” Bitty says guilty, wiping his eyes.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Bitty looks at Jack and shrugs. “Hearing what you said… It’s just hard because...because I knew that already, but I kept pushing it down. It’s _effort_ and, and _courage_ to trust that it will come, you know? I wasn’t ready to do that when the blind dates started and then I settle—Well, you said it.”

It’s only a little bit selfish when Jack suggests, “Maybe you should cancel the date tomorrow.”

Bitty shakes his head. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“Okay.” Jack says, feeling the conversation finally reach its end. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

**

Jack set his alarm last night so he’d have plenty of time to submit his essay. He assumes Bitty will make an early exit following Jack’s overstepping last night but instead of his alarm, he’s woken up by music and noises coming from the kitchen. It takes a second for him to realise it’s not Shitty. Bitty’s still here.

Jack catches himself smiling and is halfway to the kitchenette before he realises he’s in his pyjamas. He goes back into his bedroom, on the one hand embarrassed that he’s thinking about how he looks this morning with Bitty in his kitchen, but simultaneously enjoying the new sensation of caring. He disables his alarm and changes into jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

“Morning Bitty,” Jack greets as he steps into the kitchen area.

Bitty spins around, hand on his chest. “Jack! I didn’t hear you. Morning. Did I wake you? I wanted to say thank you for letting me stay over last night,” Bitty barrels on without waiting for a response. “I know it’s not much, but you didn’t have a whole lot in your fridge.”

Bitty nervously twists his fingers together as Jack looks at the stack of pancakes Bitty has managed to make. Jack didn’t realise he even had the ingredients for that.

“This isn’t much?” Jack asks, after he’s taken it all in. Bitty has found Jack’s maple syrup bottle.

Bitty sighs. “I know. I couldn’t even find any fruit to go with the—”

“No, Bitty. I meant...This is too much.”

“Oh.” Bitty blinks and his hands drop by his side. “It’s not really. I like cooking. Anyway, we should eat before it goes cold.”

Jack sits down at the small table with Bitty across from him. He likes that Bitty’s still here with him, staying for breakfast and making conversation.

Bitty’s phone starts buzzing on the counter-top, interrupting him talking Jack through the cookie recipe he promised he’d get for Shitty. Bitty picks it up, takes one look at the screen and his smile drops. “Oh shit. Damn.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Jack asks, alarmed.

“I can’t believe—Sorry,” he says to Jack, “I’ve got to take—Hey Rans,” he answers the call in the middle of his sentence, pushing his chair back from the table and walking away.

It hits Jack then like it did Bitty a moment ago. Ransom is calling about Bitty’s date.

It fell from his thoughts somewhere between falling asleep and breakfast. Bitty has a date this morning. With someone who isn’t him.

Jack watches Bitty pace the small kitchenette. “No. Yes, yes, I remembered…You are?...I’m at Jack’s…Jack and Shitty, yeah…Yes…Yes, of course…No, I can text. I’ve got his number…I’ll tell you how it went afterwards.”

Bitty hangs up and turns to Jack, eyes wide. “Shit.”

“Your date.” It’s not a question because Jack already knows the answer.

Bitty nods frantically. “I can’t believe it’s almost 11! I didn’t realise we’d been talking so long.”

Jack checks the time on the microwave and sees that Bitty is right. It is almost 11. Which means his essay is almost due. If he goes and grabs his laptop now, he’d probably have time to go through it twice before submitting it, once if he wants to check his references as well.

Bitty is still panicking though and it feels more important than Jack’s re-read.

“I thought I was going to have time to go home first and shower,” Bitty is saying. “I had an outfit half-picked out—well, I knew what shoes I wanted to wear—and my hairbrush is over there, I mean, look at this!” Bitty gestures to his bed hair. Jack doesn’t think it’s the time to tell him he thinks it’s a good look on him. “But now I’ve got less than half an hour and there’s no way I can make it to my place then back to Jerry’s in time, and I can’t be late because I can’t be rude, and I can’t wear my outfit from yesterday because it probably stinks like alcohol and sweat, and if I did then Ransom would hear and he’d—”

“Hey, hey. Bitty.” Jack steps up to him and presses his hands on Bitty’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. Breathe with me for a second?”

Bitty looks up at Jack and nods, still breathing too fast for Jack’s liking.

Jack breathes in and out four times slowly, and watches Bitty to make sure he’s doing the same.

“Great work,” Jack says and Bitty smiles, if a little weakly. “Now here’s the plan. You shower here, use whatever you need from the bathroom—shampoo, soap, deodorant. There’s a hairdryer in the bottom drawer. While you’re doing that, I’ll lay out some of mine and Shitty’s clean clothes that will fit you. Not an actual outfit, because we know I’d be terrible at that.” Bitty laughs and Jack feels immediate relief. “It’s a seven-minute walk to Jerry’s from here so you’ve heaps of time, and even if you’re late—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—once Mark meets you I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Jack reassures, squeezing Bitty’s shoulders slightly. “I would for sure.”

Bitty throws his arms around Jack in a hug. Jack hugs him back and it feels wonderful and horrible at the same time because it’s perfect and Bitty is about to leave him for a date.

“Now go shower,” Jack says when he starts to think about not letting Bitty go.

Bitty dashes off to the bathroom. Jack smiles after him, but it slowly drops from his face. How did he get himself in this position? Helping Bitty go on a date with someone else. Helping Bitty when he should be working on his essay. He dismisses the latter thought easily, but the first still nags at him. He sighs and heads into his bedroom. He gathers a few shirts that are small on him and some clean socks, then heads over to Shitty’s room. By the time he’s laid the options out on Shitty’s bed, the hairdryer is going in the bathroom. Jack looks over the clothes, trying to see it with his mother’s eye. He hopes this is actually helpful. It seems like it could be more confusing than anything. Who wants to go on a first date in someone else’s clothes? It’s probably going to be off-putting and uncomfortable. Or is that just the way Jack would feel about it?

Jack doesn’t get time to follow the thought because the bathroom door opens and Bitty steps out. Jack double-takes when he realises Bitty’s just wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks away hurriedly from Bitty’s torso.

“Thanks so much for this. I owe you big time. Two pies at least.”

“It’s no problem,” Jack says, cheeks warms, still not looking at Bitty.

Jack goes out to the kitchen to clear their breakfast stuff while Bitty gets ready. He thinks that’s his part done in this, but Bitty calls him into Shitty’s room a minute later.

“What do you think?” He holds his arms out to the side and spins around slowly.

Jack’s chest hurts because Bitty looks fantastic and it’s not for his benefit. Bitty’s gone for one of his tops, and that hurts more because it’s such a couples thing to do; but they’re not one.

Bitty bites his lip and drops his arms. “That bad?” he asks lowly.

Jack shakes his head. “No. No. I love—” He clears his throat. “I think Mark is going to be blown away.”

Bitty smiles. “Alright. I think I’m ready.”

Jack walks Bitty to the door, making sure he’s got all of his things with him, trying to work out what to say that doesn’t reveal his feelings or makes him seem unsupportive.

“I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and doesn’t say anything else.

Bitty walks away down the corridor. Jack watches him until he disappears with a final wave into the lift.

**

The stone in his gut is back again, though not as disrupting this time thankfully seeing as he knows why. He finishes packing away the leftover food from breakfast and washes the dishes while counting the minutes in his head. Bitty must be at Jerry’s now. The microwave clock tells him it’s 10 minutes past 11.

10 minutes after his essay was due. Jack looks at the numbers and doesn’t feel much of anything about missing the deadline. He wonders if Mark is calling him ‘Bitty’ or ‘Eric’.

An hour after it’s due, Jack submits his essay. It’s underwhelming; a simple press of a button. He opens up an email and drafts a letter to his lecturer to explain his tardiness but when he reads it back, it sounds like he’s making excuses. He sighs and cancels out of it without saving a draft. He made his bed and now he’s got to lay in it.

Jack gets a glass of water from the kitchen. He takes stock of how he feels as he drinks. There’s still no bubbling unease inside him for submitting late. Only the usual anxiety he feels at having sent his work off the be judged, knowing he doesn’t have control over it any longer. That feeling he’s used to. He was expecting it. He can deal with it.

The guilt he was expecting hasn’t come. It’s so surprising that Jack actually laughs to himself, out loud all alone in the kitchen. He chose to help Bitty and he submitted his essay late. He _chose_ to do that. He can accept that. He must have already, deep down.

Jack fills up his water glass again and goes back to his computer. He’s been waiting until he submitted his essay to watch a mini-series Shitty’s been raving about. He opens up Facebook to find the link Shitty sent. When the tab loads, Jack’s surprised to see he has several notifications. The amount is abnormal, and when he clicks on the icon the content is too. Normally, it’s his parents liking his photos or Shitty tagging him in things. Those things are there still, but there’s also friend requests from Lardo, Ransom and Holster.

He accepts them all.

Immediately there’s a message from Holster.

 **Holster:** Jack! Yay! Thanks for the accept, bro. Here’s a link to the trivia comp for next Tuesday. See you there?

Jack doesn’t click through to the link. He thinks about what Bitty said, what Lardo said, what Shitty’s been telling him.

Hi Holster, he types out, then deleted and goes with a simple ‘Hey’.

 **Jack:** Thanks. I’ll be there.

Holster sends back a thumbs up emoji and then one of a trophy.

Jack’s nervous about it, sure he’s going to turn up on Tuesday feeling out of sorts and shy, but he makes the promise to himself that he _will_ turn up.

A little while into the first episode of the mini-series, someone knocks on the door.

“Forget your key again?” Jack says, going to open the door. This is probably the eighth time _this month_ Shitty’s forgotten it. “Maybe you should think about getting it—”

Jack pulls up short. It’s not Shitty at the door.

“Bitty.”

“Hi,” Bitty says. He’s breathing heavily and his cheeks are flushed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Oh. Yes. Yeah, of course.” He steps aside to let Bitty pass and shuts the door slowly behind him. “I thought you had your date,” Jack says following Bitty into the main room.

“I do.” Bitty says, turning to face Jack.

Jack looks around him. “But you’re…here?”

Bitty nods. “Yes.”

Bitty’s hands move restlessly in front of him. Jack watches them as he thinks about why Bitty’s back here and not at Jerry’s with Mark.

“Did you leave something behind?” Jack asks after deciding that must be it, though he’d been sure Bitty took everything. He starts to look anyway.

“Uh, no. I didn’t,” Bitty replies. “Or, I guess you could say that I did.”

Jack stops looking and returns his gaze to Bitty. “Can I help you find it?”

Bitty smiles at Jack. “I’ve found it.”

“Oh. Great.” Jack says. He must have missed it when he turned his back to look. “I’ll...I’ll see you out then.”

“No, wait. Jack. I’m—” Bitty sighs out and whispers, “I’m not doing this well.”

“Not doing what well?”

“Explaining myself. I—did you submit your essay?” Bitty asks suddenly.

“Uh, yes. A while ago.”

“Late though, yes?”

Jack nods and Bitty smiles again.

“I was doing that thing on the way over to Jerry’s. You know, the why game, or whatever it is you call the thing you do. And I got to Jerry’s before I finished. So I had to find Mark, but he was nice and really easy to talk to.”

Jack doesn’t know why Bitty has decided he’s the one to talk about his date with. Surely Ransom or Holster should be his first choice.

“So it went well?” Jack asks, trying to be supportive even though his gut stone is growing more weighted second by second.

“Yes. Then no because I realised something.”

“What?”

“Your essay. It kept coming up last night and I can’t believe I didn’t realise sooner but, Jack. You missed the deadline for your essay.”

“Not by that much,” Jack defends, feeling chided.

“No, no. Sorry.” Bitty waves his hands in front of him. “That wasn’t my point.”

“Then what is?”

Bitty smiles at Jack and says softly, “You chose to miss the deadline so you could help me get ready.” It’s not until Bitty repeats it with a changed emphasis that Jack gets what’s so important about his sentence.

“You _chose_ me, Jack. You _chose_ me over submitting your essay.”

Jack hears clearly in the back of his mind, Bitty yelling, _I want someone to choose me._

“You needed my help. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Bitty shakes his head and steps closer. “Not for either of us.”

Jack’s been holding himself back around Bitty since he realised his feelings last night. There’s no need now.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he agrees, “but it was...easy. Of course I was going to help you,” he says emphatically and takes his own step to lessen the space between them. “I thought it was going to be a big thing when I made the choice to help you instead of turning my essay in on time. I thought I might regret it. I didn’t. I still don’t.”

Jack can see Bitty’s chest rise and fall with his breathing from this close. “I left Mark to come back here. I don’t think I’m going to regret that.”

Jack doesn’t want Bitty to regret anything about their relationship. He’s going to make that his goal. He’s going to choose Bitty every day and hope Bitty does the same.

“I do have one regret though.”

“What is it?” Has Jack failed already?

“I left before my food came out,” Bitty pouts and Jack is so relieved he laughs. “I’m hungry.”

“I kept your pancakes,” Jack says and watches Bitty’s eyes light up. “They’re in the fridge. Would you like to maybe stay over? We can finish them.”

“I’d love that. But first, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do.” Bitty holds his hand out to Jack. Jack takes it and Bitty pulls him forwards until they’re toe to toe.

“Kiss me?” Bitty asks, smiling up at Jack and tangling their fingers together.

There’s only one right answer that Jack can see. He leans down and joins their lips. It’s soft, and warm. They move together, finding a rhythm with ease, and Jack’s reminded of when they hugged last night, and the perfect way Bitty’s body felt aligned with his. Bitty’s fingers tighten around Jack’s and his free hand moves to Jack’s waist. Jack’s chest comes alive with his pumping heart. Bitty tastes like coffee. Jack can’t wait until he tastes like maple syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks mods for organising this! I love a challenge and I love being part of fandom events. [Let's all go support the contributors to this year's event. Reblog, leave kudos, write a comment - make someone's whole week!](https://omgcpbigbang2018.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Once again, thank you to [Silvia](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/) for being my cheer-leader and making sure my Aussie slang doesn't confuse readers across the globe. And thanks to [Max](https://pvdfalconers.tumblr.com/) for creating not only an awesome [movie poster](https://pvdfalconers.tumblr.com/post/180037574298/just-another-hour-or-two-by-17piesinseptember), but the banner that starts this fic off too!
> 
> If you liked this, why not check out my [Big Bang 2017 fic?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681105/chapters/28912026) And hey, if you're on tumblr, [so am I!](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/)


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